»    v 


BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 


ALBERT  PAYSON  TERHUNE 


.   OP  CALIF.   LIBRARY,   LOS  ANOEIJW 


BLACK    CAESAR'S 
CLAN 

A  FLORIDA  MYSTERY  STORY 

BY 
ALBERT  PAYSON  TERHUNE 

ATJTHOH   OF   "LAD:   A  DOG,"    "BLACK   GOLD,"    "BEUCE,"   ETC. 


NEW  ^isr  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1922, 
BY  GEORGE   H.   DORAN  COMPANY 


BLACK  C2G6AR'S  CLAN.  I 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED,  HOST  GRATEFULLY 
TO  MY  FRIEND 

JOHN  E.  PICKETT 

EDITOR    OF 

"THE  COUNTRY  GENTLEMAN" 


FOREWORD 

A  wiggling,  brainless,  slimy  atom  began  it.  He  and 
trillions  of  his  kind.  He  was  the  Coral  Worm  ("An- 
thozoa,"  if  you  prefer). 

He  and  his  tribe  lived  and  died  on  the  sea-bottom; 
successive  generations  piling  higher  on  the  skeletons 
3fid  life  work — or  the  life-loafing,  for  they  were  lazy 
atoms — of  those  that  went  before.  At  last  the  coral 
reef  crawled  upward  until  in  uncharted  waters  it  was 
tall  enough  to  smash  a  wooden  ship-keel. 

Then,  above  the  surface  of  the  waves  it  nosed  its 
way;  grayish  white,  whalebacked.  From  a  hundred 
miles  distant  floated  a  cigar-shaped  mangrove-bud; 
bobbing  vertically,  through  the  ocean,  until  it  chanced 
to  touch  the  new-risen  coral  reef.  The  mangrove, 
alone  of  all  trees,  will  sprout  and  grow  in  salt  water. 
The  mangrove's  trunk,  alone  of  all  trunks,  is  impervi- 
ous to  the  corrosive  action  of  the  sea. 

At  once  the  bud  set  to  work.  It  drove  an  anchor- 
root  into  the  reef,  then  other  roots  and  still  others.  It 
shot  up  to  the  height  of  a  foot  or  two;  and  thence 
sent  thick  red-brown  roots  straight  downward  into 
the  coral  again. 

And  so  on,  until  it  had  formed  a  tangled  root-fence 
for  many  yards  alongshore.  After  which,  its  work 
being  done,  the  mangrove  proceeded  to  grow  upward 

vii 


viii  FOREWORD 

into  a  big  and  glossy-leaved  shade-tree;  making  buds 
for  further  fences. 

Meanwhile,  every  particle  of  floating  seaweed,  every 
dead  fish  or  animal,  all  vegetation,  etc.,  which  chanced 
to  wash  into  that  fence-tangle,  stayed  there.  It  is 
easier  for  matter,  as  well  as  for  man,  to  get  entangled 
in  mangrove  roots  than  to  get  out  again. 

The  sun  and  the  rain  did  their  work  on  this  decaying 
stuff.  Thus,  soil  was  formed,  atop  the  coral  and  in 
the  hollows  scooped  out  of  its  surface  by  wind  or  tide. 

Presently,  a  coconut,  hurled  from  its  stem  in  the 
Bahamas  or  in  Cuba,  by  a  hurricane,  set  its  palmleaf 
sail-sprout  and  was  gale-driven  across  the  intervening 
seas ;  floating  ashore  on  the  new-risen  land.  There  it 
sprouted.  Birds,  winds,  waves,  brought  germs  of 
other  trees.  The  sub-tropical  island  was  complete. 

Island,  key,  reef — reef,  key,  island — with  the  inter- 
vening gaps  of  azure-emerald  water,  bridged,  bit  by 
bit,  by  the  coral; — to-day  a  sea-surface,  to-morrow  a 
gray-white  reef,  next  day  a  mangrove  hedge,  and  the 
next  an  expanse  of  spectacular  verdure  and  glistening 
gray-white  sand. 

So  Florida  was  born. 

So,  at  least,  its  southern  portion  was  born;  and  is 
still  in  daily  process  of  birth.  And,  according  to 
Agassiz  and  many  another,  the  entire  Peninsula  may 
have  arisen  in  this  fashion,  from  the  green-blue  sea. 

Dredge  and  shovel  are  laboring  hard  to  guide  or 
check  the  endless  undersea  coral  growth  before  bay 
and  channel  and  lagoon  shall  all  be  dry  land.  The 
wormlike,  lazy,  fast-multiplying  Anthozoa  is  fighting 


FOREWORD  ix 

passively  but  with  terrific  power,  to  set  at  naught  all 
man's  might  and  wit. 

In  time,  coral  sand-spit  and  mangrove  swamp  were 
cleared  for  a  wonderland  playground,  of  divine  cli- 
mate whither  winter  tourists  throng  by  the  hundred 
thousand.  In  time,  too,  these  sand-spits  and  swamps 
and  older  formations  of  the  sunny  peninsula  furnished 
homes  and  sources  of  livelihood  or  of  wealth  to  many 
thousands  more; — people,  these,  to  whom  Florida  is 
a  Career,  not  a  Resort. 

As  in  every  land  which  has  grown  swiftly  and  along 
different  lines  from  the  rest  of  the  country,  there  still 
are  mystery  and  romance  and  thrills  to  be  found  lurk- 
ing among  the  keys  and  back  of  the  mangrove-swamps 
and  along  the  mystic  reaches  of  sunset  shoreline. 

With  awkward  and  inexpert  touch,  my  story  seeks 
to  set  forth  some  of  these. 

Understand,  please,  that  this  book  is  rank  melo- 
drama. It  has  scant  literary  quality.  It  is  not  planned 
to  edify.  Its  only  mission  is  to  entertain  you  and, — 
if  you  belong  to  the  action-loving  majority, — to  give 
you  an  occasional  thrill. 

Perhaps  you  will  like  it.  Perhaps  you  will  not.  But 
I  do  not  think  you  will  go  to  sleep  over  it.  There  are 
worse  recommendations  than  that  for  any  book. 

ALBERT  PAYSON  TERHUNE. 

"Sunnybank" 
Pomp  ton  Lakes, 
New  Jersey. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I       THE    HIDDEN    PATH 15 

II        THE   MAN    IN    THE    DARK 41 

III  THE     MOCKING     BIRD 67 

IV  THE    STRANGER    FROM    NOWHERE 93 

V       TRAPS    AND    TRAPPER     .         .         .         ...         .        .  119 

VI       IN    THE    DAY    OF    BATTLE 147 

VII       SECRETS 173 

VIII       THE    SIEGE 201 

IX       THE   FIGURE   IN   WHITE 229 

X       THE    GHOST    TREE 257 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  HIDDEN  PATH 


BLACK  OESAR'S  CLAN 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  HIDDEN  PATH 

OVERHEAD  sang  the  steady  trade  wind ;  temper- 
ing the  golden  sunshine's  heat.     To  eastward, 
under  an  incredibly  blue  sky,  stretched  the  more  in- 
credibly multi-hued  waters  of  Biscayne  Bay;  the  snow- 
white  wonder-city  of  Miami  dreaming  on  its  shores. 

Dividing  the  residence  and  business  part  of  the  city 
from  the  giant  hotels,  Flagler  Avenue  split  the  mass 
of  buildings,  from  back-country  to  bay.  To  its  west- 
ward side  spread  the  shaded  expanse  of  Royal  Palm 
Park;  with  its  deep-shaded  short  lane  of  Australian 
pines,  its  rustling  palm  trees,  its  white  church  and  its 
frond-flecked  vistas  of  grass. 

Here,  scarce  a  quarter-century  ago,  a  sandspit  had 

Broiled  beneath  an  untempered  sun.    Shadeless,  grass- 

~,  it  had  been  an  abomination  of  desolution  and  a 

^ing-place  for  mosquitoes.     Then  had  come  the 

i  of  man.    First,  the  Royal  Palm  Hotel  had  sprung 

stately  existence,  out  of  nothingness.    Then  other 

vansaries.     Palm  and  pine  and  vivid  lawn-grass 

followed.    The  mosquitoes  had  fled  far  back  to 

IS 


16  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

the  mangrove  swamps.  And  a  rarely  beautiful  White 
City  had  sprung  up. 

It  was  Sunday  morning.  From  the  park's  band- 
stand, William  J.  Bryan  was  preaching  to  his  open-air 
Sunday  School  class  of  tourists ;  two  thousand  strong. 
Around  the  bandstand  the  audience  stood  or  sat  in 
rapt  interest. 

The  Australian-pine  lane,  to  the  rear,  was  lined  with 
all  manner  of  automobiles ;  from  limousine  to  battered 
flivver.  The  cars'  occupants  listened  as  best  they  could 
could — through  the  whirr  of  sea-planes  and  the  soft 
hum  of  Sabbath  traffic  and  the  dry  slither  of  a  myriad 
grating  palm-fronds  in  the  trade-wind's  wake — to  the 
preacher's  words. 

The  space  of  shaded  grass,  between  lane  and  hotel- 
grounds  and  bandstand,  was  starred  by  white-clad  chil- 
dren; and  by  men  who  sprawled  drowsily  upon  the 
springy  turf,  their  straw  hats  tilted  above  their  eyes. 
The  time  was  mid-February.  The  thermometers  on  the 
Royal  Palm  veranda  registered  seventy-three.  No 
rain  had  fallen  in  weeks,  to  mar  the  weather's  perfec- 
tion. 

"Scientists  are  spending  $5,000,000  to  send  an  ex- 
pedition into  Africa  in  search  of  the  'missing-link' !" 
the  orator  was  thundering.  "It  would  be  better  for 
them  to  spend  all  or  part  of  that  money,  in  seeking 
closer  connection  with  their  Heavenly  Father,  than 
with  the  Brutes!" 

A  buzz  of  approval  swept  the  listeners.  That  same 
buzz  came  irritatingly  to  the  ears  of  a  none-too-sprucely 
dressed  young  man  who  lay,  with  eyes  shut,  under  the 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  17 

shifting  shade  of  a  giant  palm,  a  hundred  yards  away. 
He  had  not  caught  the  phrase  which  inspired  the  ap- 
plause— thanks  to  the  confusion  of  street  sounds  and 
the  multiple  dry  rattle  of  the  palm- fronds  and  the 
whirring  passage  of  a  sea-plane  which  circled  above 
park  and  bay.  But  the  buzz  aroused  him. 

He  had  not  been  asleep.  Prone  on  his  back,  hat 
pulled  over  his  upper  face,  he  had  been  lying  motion- 
less there,  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour.  Now,  stretch- 
ing, he  got  to  his  feet  in  leisurely  fashion ;  brushed  per- 
functorily at  his  rumpled  clothes ;  and  turned  his  steps 
toward  the  double  line  of  plumy  Australian  pines 
which  bordered  the  lane  between  hotel  grounds  and 
avenue. 

Only  once  did  he  hesitate  in  his  slouching  progress. 
That  was  when  he  chanced  to  come  alongside  one  of 
the  cars,  in  the  long  rank,  drawn  up  in  the  shade. 
The  machine's  front  seat  was  occupied  by  a  giant  of 
a  man,  all  in  white  silk;  a  man  of  middle  age,  blonde 
and  bearded ;  a  man  who,  but  for  his  modern  costume, 
might  well  have  posed  as  a  Norse  Viking. 

The  splendid  breadth  of  shoulder  and  depth  of  chest 
caught  the  wanderer's  glance  and  won  his  grudging 
approval.  Thence,  his  elaborately  careless  gaze  shifted 
to  the  car's  rear  seat  where  sat  a  girl.  He  noted  she 
was  small  and  dainty  and  tanned  and  dressed  in  white 
sport-clothes.  Also,  that  one  of  her  arms  was  passed 
around  the  shoulder  of  a  big  young  gold-and-white 
collie  dog; — a  dog  that  fidgeted  uneasily  and  paid 
scant  heed  to  the  restraining  hand  and  caressing  voice 
of  his  mistress. 


18  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

As  the  shabby  man  paused  momentarily  to  scan  the 
car's  three  occupants,  the  girl  happened  to  look  toward 
him.  Her  look  was  brief  and  impersonal.  Yet,  for  the 
merest  instant,  her  eyes  met  his.  And  their  glances 
held  each  other  with  a  momentary  intentness.  Then 
the  girl  turned  again  toward  the  restless  dog;  seeking 
to  quiet  him.  And  the  man  passed  on. 

Moving  with  aimless  slowness — one  is  not  long  in 
Southern  Florida  without  acquiring  a  leisurely  gait — 
the  lounger  left  the  park  and  strolled  up  Thirteenth 
Avenue,  towards  the  bridge  which  spans  the  Miami 
River  and  forms  a  link  between  the  more  thickly  settled 
part  of  the  town  and  its  southerly  suburbs. 

As  he  crossed  the  bridge,  a  car  passed  him,  moving 
rapidly  eastward;  and  leaving  a  choky  trail  of  dust. 
He  had  bare  time  to  see  it  was  driven  by  the  Norse 
giant;  and  that  the  girl  had  moved  to  the  front  seat 
beside  the  driver.  The  collie  (fastened  by  a  cord 
running  through  his  collar  from  one  side  of  the  ton- 
neau  to  the  other)  lay  fidgetingly  on  the  rear  seat. 

For  miles  the  man  plodded  on,  under  the  wind-tem- 
pered sunshine.  Passing  Brickell  Avenue  and  then  the 
last  of  the  city,  he  continued; — now  on  the  road,  now 
going  cross-country, — until  he  came  out  on  a  patch 
of  broken  beach,  with  a  background  of  jungle-like 
forest. 

The  sun  had  gone  beyond  the  meridian  mark,  during 
his  ramble  southward;  and  the  afternoon  was  hurry- 
ing by.  For  the  way  was  long,  though  he  had  tramped 
steadily. 

As  he  reached  the  bit  of  sandy  foreshore,  he  paused 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  19 

for  the  first  time  since  stopping  to  survey  the  car.  An 
unpainted  rowboat  was  drawn  up  on  the  beach.  Half 
way  between  it  and  the  tangle  of  woodland  behind, 
was  a  man  clad  only  in  undershirt  and  dirty  duck 
trousers.  He  was  yanking  along  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck  a  protesting  and  evidently  angry  collie. 

The  man  was  big  and  rugged.  Weather  and  sea 
had  bronzed  him  to  the  hue  of  an  Arab.  Apparently, 
he  had  sighted  the  dog;  and  had  run  his  boat  ashore 
to  capture  the  stray  animal.  He  handled  his  prize  none 
too  gently;  and  his  management  was  calling  forth  all 
the  collie's  resentment.  But  as  the  man  had  had  the 
wit  to  seize  the  dog  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  to 
keep  himself  out  of  the  reach  of  the  luckless  creature's 
vainly  snapping  jaws,  these  protests  went  for  nothing. 

Within  thirty  feet  of  the  boat,  the  dog  braced  himself 
for  a  new  effort  to  tear  free.  The  man,  in  anger,  planted 
a  vigorous  kick  against  the  collie's  furry  side.  As  his 
foot  was  bare,  the  kick  lost  much  of  its  potential 
power  to  injure.  Yet  it  had  the  effect  of  rousing  to 
sudden  indignation  the  dusty  youth  who  had  stopped 
on  his  tramp  from  Miami  to  watch  the  scene. 

"Whose  dog  is  that?"  he  demanded,  striding  for- 
ward, from  the  shade;  and  approaching  the  struggling 
pair. 

"Who  the  blue  blazes  are  you?"  countered  the  bare- 
foot man,  his  eyes  running  contemptuously  over  the 
shabby  and  slight-built  figure. 

"My  name  is  Brice,"  said  the  other.  "Gavin  Brice. 
Not  that  it  matters.  And  now,  perhaps  you'll  answer 
my  question.  Whose  dog  is  that?" 


20  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

"Mine,"  returned  the  barefoot  man,  renewing  his 
effort  to  drag  the  collie  toward  the  boat. 

"If  he's  yours,"  said  Brice,  pleasantly,  "stop  hauling 
him  along  and  let  him  loose.  He'll  follow  you,  without 
all  that  hustling.  A  good  collie  will  always  follow, 
his  master,  anywhere." 

"When  I'm  honin'  for  your  jabber,"  retorted  the 
other,  "I'll  come  a-askin'  for  it." 

He  drew  back  his  foot  once  more,  for  a  kick.  But, 
with  a  lazy  competence,  Brice  moved  forward  and 
gave  him  a  light  push,  sidewise,  on  the  shoulder.  There 
was  science  and  a  rare  knowledge  of  leverage  in  the 
mild  gesture.  When  a  man  is  kicking,  he  is  on  only 
one  foot.  And,  the  right  sort  of  oblique  push  will 
not  only  throw  him  off  his  balance,  but  in  such  a  di- 
rection that  his  second  foot  cannot  come  to  earth  in 
position  to  help  him  restore  that  balance. 

Under  the  skillfully  gentle  impact  of  Brice's  shove, 
the  man  let  go  of  the  snarling  collie  and  hopped  in- 
sanely for  a  second  or  so,  with  arms  outflung.  Then 
}ie  sat  down  ungracefully  on  the  sand. 

Scarce  had  he  touched  ground  when  he  was  up. 

But  the  moment  had  sufficed  for  the  collie  to  go  free. 
Instead  of  running  off,  the  dog  moved  over  to  Brice, 
thrust  his  cool  muzzle  into  the  man's  hand,  and,  with 
wagging  tail,  looked  up  lovingly  at  him. 

A  collie  has  brains;  beyond  most  dogs.  And  this 
collie  recognized  that  the  pleasant-voiced,  indolent- 
looking  stranger  had  just  rescued  him  from  a  captor 
who  had  been  treating  him  abominably.  Wherefore, 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  21 

in  gratitude  and  dawning  adoration,  he  came  to  pay 
his  respects. 

Brice  patted  the  silken  head  so  confidingly  upraised 
to  him.  He  knew  dogs.  Especially,  he  knew  collies. 
And  he  was  hot  with  indignation  at  the  needlessly  bru- 
tal treatment  just  accorded  this  splendid  beast. 

But  he  had  scant  time  for  emotions  of  any  kind. 
The  beach  comber  had  regained  his  feet;  and  in  the 
same  motion  had  lost  his  self-control.  Head  lowered, 
fists  swinging,  he  came  charging  down  upon  the  strip- 
ling who  had  the  audacity  to  upset  him. 

Brice  did  not  await  his  onset.  Slipping  lithely 
to  one  side  he  avoided  the  bull-rush;  all  the  time  talk- 
ing in  the  same  pleasantly  modulated  drawl. 

"I  saw  this  dog,  earlier  in  the  day,"  said  he,  "in  a 
car,  with  some  people.  They  drove  this  way.  The 
dog  must  have  chewed  his  cord  and  then  jumped  or 
fallen  out ;  and  strayed  here.  You  saw  him,  from  the 
water,  and  tried  to  steal  him.  Next  to  a  vivisectionist, 
the  filthiest  man  God  ever  made  is  the  man  who  kicks 
a  dog.  It's  lucky " 

He  got  no  further.  Twice,  during  his  short  speech, 
he  had  had  to  twist,  with  amazing  speed,  out  of  the  way 
of  profanity-accompanied  rushes.  Now,  pressed  too 
close  for  comfort,  he  halted,  ducked  a  violent  left 
swing;  and  ran  from  under  the  flailing  right  arm  of  his 
assailant. 

Then,  darting  back  for  fully  twenty-five  feet,  he 
cried  out,  gayly: 

"I  woi  't  buy  him  from  you.  But  I'll  fight  you  for 
him,  if  >  m  like." 


22  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  battered 
and  old-fashioned  gold  watch.  Laying  it  on  the  sand, 
he  went  on: 

"How  does  this  strike  you  as  a  sporting  offer  ?  Win- 
ner to  take  both  dog  and  watch?  How  about  it?" 

The  other  had  halted  in  an  incipient  charge  to  take 
note  of  the  odd  proposition.  He  blinked  at  the  flash 
of  the  watch's  battered  gold  case  in  the  sunshine.  For 
the  first  time,  he  seemed  a  trifle  irresolute.  This  eel- 
like  antagonist,  with  such  eccentric  ideas  as  to  sport, 
was  something  outside  the  beach-comber's  experience. 
Puzzled,  he  stood  scowling. 

"How  about  it?"  queried  Brice.  "I  hope  you'll  re- 
fuse. I'd  rather  be  kicked,  any  day,  than  have  to  fight. 
But — well,  I  wouldn't  rather  see  a  good  dog  kicked. 
Still,  if  you're  content  with  what  you've  got,  we'll  call 
it  a  day.  I'll  take  the  dog  and  be  moving  on." 

The  barefoot  man's  bewilderment  was  once  more 
merging  into  wrath,  at  the  amused  superiority  in  Brice's 
words  and  demeanor.  He  glowered  appraisingly  at  the 
intruder.  He  saw  Brice  was  a  half-head  shorter  than 
himself  and  at  least  thirty  pounds  lighter.  Nor  did 
Brice's  figure  betray  any  special  muscular  development. 
Apparently,  there  could  be  but  one  outcome  to  such  a 
battle. 

The  man's  fists  clenched,  afresh.  His  big  muscles 
tightened.  Brice  saw  the  menace  and  spoke  again. 

"It's  only  fair  to  warn  you,"  said  he,  gently,  "that  I 
shall  thrash  you  worse  than  ever  you've  been  thrashed 
before  in  all  your  down-at-heel  life.  When  I  was  a 
boy,  I  saw  George  Siler  beat  up  five  men  who  tackled 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  23 

him.  Siler  wasn't  a  big  man.  But  he  had  made  a 
life-study  of  leverage.  And  it  served  him  better  than 
if  he'd  toted  a  machine  gun.  I  studied  under  him. 
And  then,  a  bit,  under  a  jiu-jitsu  man.  You'll  have 
less  chance  against  me  than  that  poor  collie  had  against 
you.  I  only  mention  it  as  a  friendly  warning.  Best 
let  things  rest  as  they  are.  Come,  puppy !"  he  chirped 
to  the  highly  interested  dog.  "Let's  be  on  our  way. 
Perhaps  we  can  find  the  people  who  lost  you.  That's 
what  I've  been  wanting  to  do,  all  day,  you  know,"  he 
added,  in  a  lower  voice,  speaking  confidentially  to  the 
dog;  and  beginning  to  stroll  off  toward  the  woods. 

But  the  barefoot  man  would  not  have  it  so.  Now, 
he  understood.  This  sissyfied  chap,  with  the  high- 
and-mighty  airs,  was  bluffing.  That  was  what  he  was 
doing.  Bluffing!  Did  he  think  for  a  minute  he  could 
get  away  with  it; — and  with  the  dog? 

A  swirl  of  red  fury  swept  to  the  beach  comber's 
brain.  Wordless,  face  distorted,  he  flung  himself  at 
the  elusive  Brice. 

So  sudden  was  his  spring  that  it  threatened  to  take 
its  victim  unaware.  Brice's  back  was  turned  to  the 
aggressor;  and  he  was  already  on  his  way  toward  the 
woods. 

Yet,  with  but  a  fraction  of  an  inch  to  spare,  he 
turned  to  face  the  oncoming  human  whirlwind.  This 
time  he  did  not  dart  back  from  the  rush.  Perhaps  he 
did  not  care  to.  Perhaps  there  was  not  time. 

Instead,  with  the  speed  of  light,  he  stepped  in ;  duck- 
ing the  hammer-fist  and  plying  both  hands  with  bewil- 
dering quickness  and  skill,  in  a  shower  of  half -arm 


24  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

blows  at  the  beach  comber's  heart  and  wind.  His 
strength  was  wiry  and  carefully  developed;  but  it  was 
no  match  for  his  foe's.  Yet  the  hail  of  body-punches 
was  delivered  with  all  the  effect  that  science  and  a 
perfect  knowledge  of  anatomy  could  compass. 

The  beach  comber  grunted  and  writhed  in  sharp 
discomfort.  Then,  he  did  the  one  thing  possible,  by 
way  of  reprisal.  Before  Brice  could  dodge  out  of 
his  close-quarters  position,  the  other  clasped  him  tight 
in  his  bulgingly  powerful  arms;  gripping  the  lighter 
man  to  his  chest  in  a  hug  which  had  the  gruesome 
force  of  a  boa-constrictor's;  and  increasing  the  pres- 
sure with  all  his  weight  and  mighty  strength. 

There  was  no  space  for  maneuvering  or  for  wrig- 
gling free.  Clear  from  the  ground  Brice's  feet  were 
swung.  The  breath  was  squeezed  out  of  him.  His 
elastic  strength  was  cramped  and  made  useless.  His 
lungs  seemed  bursting.  The  pressure  on  his  ribs  was 
unbearable.  Like  many  a  better  man  he  was  paying  the 
price  for  a  single  instant  of  overconfidence. 

One  arm  was  caught  against  his  side.  The  other 
was  impeded  and  robbed  of  all  efficient  hitting  power ; 
being  pinioned  athwart  his  breast.  And  steadily  the 
awful  pressure  was  increased.  There  was  no  apparent 
limit  to  the  beach  comber's  powers  of  constriction. 
The  blood  beat  into  Brice's  eyes.  His  tongue  began 
to  protrude  from  a  swollen  throat. 

Then,  all  at  once,  he  ceased  to  struggle;  and  lay 
limp  and  moveless  in  the  conqueror's  grasp.  Per- 
ceiving which,  the  beach  comber  relaxed  the  pressure; 
to  let  his  conquered  enemy  slide,  broken,  to  the  ground. 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  25 

This,  to  his  blank  amaze,  Gavin  Brice  neglected  to 
do.  The  old  ruse  of  apparent  collapse  had  served  its 
turn,  for  perhaps  the  millionth  time.  The  beach-comber 
was  aware  of  a  lightning-quick  tensing  of  the  slumped 
muscles.  Belatedly,  he  knew  what  had  happened;  and 
he  renewed  his  vise-grip.  But  he  was  too  late.  Eel- 
like,  Gavin  had  slithered  out  of  the  imprisoning  arms. 
And,  as  these  arms  came  together  once  more,  in  the 
bear-hug,  Brice  shot  over  a  burning  left-hander  to  the 
beach-comber's  unguarded  jaw.  Up  flew  the  big  arms 
in  belated  parry;  but  not  soon  enough  to  block  a  de- 
liberately-aimed right  swing,  which  Brice  drove  whiz- 
zing into  the  jaw's  point. 

The  brace  of  blows  rocked  the  giant,  so  that  he 
reejled  drunkenly  under  their  dynamic  force.  The 
average  man  must  have  been  floored  and  even  knocked 
senseless  by  such  well-directed  smashes  to  so  vital  a 
spot.  But  the  beach-comber  merely  staggered  back, 
seeking  instinctively  to  guard  his  battered  face;  and 
to  regain  his  balance. 

In  at  the  reeling  foe  tore  Gavin  Brice;  showering 
him  with  systematic  punches  to  every  vulnerable  spot 
above  the  belt  line.  It  was  merciless  punishment ;  and 
it  was  delivered  with  rare  deftness. 

Yet,  the  iron-bodied  man  on  whom  it  was  inflicted 
merely  grunted  again  and,  under  the  avalanche  of 
blows,  managed  to  regain  his  balance  and  plunge  back 
to  the  assault.  A  born  fighter,  he  was  now  obsessed 
with  but  one  idea ; — namely,  to  destroy  this  smaller  and 
faster  opponent  who  was  hurting  him  so  outrageously. 
As  far  as  the  beach  comber  was  concerned,  it  was 


26  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

a  murder-battle,  now ;  with  no  question  of  mercy  asked 
or  given. 

The  collie  had  been  viewing  this  astounding  scene 
in  eager  interest  Never  before,  in  his  short  life,  had 
he  seen  two  humans  fight.  And,  even  now,  he  was 
not  at  all  certain  that  it  was  a  fight  and  not  some  in- 
tensely thrilling  game.  Thus  had  he  watched  two  boys 
wrestle  and  box,  in  his  own  puppyhood.  And,  for 
venturing  to  jump  into  that  jolly  fracas,  he  had  been 
scolded  and  sent  back  to  his  kennel. 

Yet,  there  was  something  about  this  clash,  between 
the  giant  who  had  mistreated  him  and  the  softer-voiced 
man  who  had  rescued  him,  which  spoke  of  mad  excite- 
ment ;  and  which  stirred  the  collie's  own  excitable  tem- 
perament to  the  very  depths.  Dancingly,  he  pattered 
around  the  fighters,  tulip  ears  cocked,  deepset  eyes 
aglow;  his  fanfare  of  barks  echoing  far  back  through 
the  silent  woods. 

The  beach  comber,  rallying  from  the  dual  jaw-bom- 
bardment, bored  back  at  his  foe;  taking  the  heaviest 
and  most  scientific  punishment,  in  a  raging  attempt  to 
gather  Brice  once  more  into  the  trap  of  his  terrible 
arms.  But  Gavin  kept  just  out  of  reach;  moving 
with  an  almost  insolent  carelessness ;  and  ever  flashing 
some  painful  blow  to  face  or  to  body  as  he  retreated. 

Then,  as  the  other  charged,  Gavin  sidestepped  with 
perfect  ease;  and,  when  the  beach-comber  wheeled 
clumsily  to  face  him,  threw  one  foot  forward  and  at 
the  same  time  pushed  the  larger  man's  shoulder  vio- 
lently with  his  open  palm.  It  was  a  repetition  of  the 
"leverage  theory"  Gavin  had  so  recently  been  expound- 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  27 

ing  to  his  antagonist.  It  caught  the  lunging  giant  at 
precisely  the  right  non-balance  angle,  as  he  was  turning 
about.  And,  for  the  second  time,  the  beach-comber 
sat  down  on  the  trampled  sand,  with  unexpected  sud- 
denness and  force. 

Gavin  Brice  laughed  aloud,  with  boyish  mischief; 
and  stood  back,  waiting  for  the  cursing  madman  to 
scramble  to  his  feet  again.  But,  as  the  beach  comber 
leaped  up — and  before  he  could  get  fairly  balanced 
on  his  legs — another  foot-and-palm  maneuver  sent  him 
sprawling. 

This  time  the  puffing  and  foaming  and  insanely- 
badgered  man  did  not  try  at  once  to  rise.  Instead,  his 
hand  whipped  back  to  his  thigh. 

"My  clumsy  friend,"  Brice  was  saying,  pleasantly, 
"I'm  afraid  you'll  never  win  that  watch.  Shall  we  call 
it  a  day  and  quit?  Or " 

He  broke  off  with  an  exclamation  of  genuine  wrath. 
For,  with  astonishing  swiftness,  the  big  hand  had  flown 
to  the  hip  of  the  ragged  trousers ;  had  plucked  a  short- 
bladed  fishing  knife  from  its  sheath;  and  had  hurled  it, 
dexterously,  with  the  strength  of  a  catapult,  straight 
at  his  smiling  adversary's  throat. 

The  sub-tropic  beach  comber  and  the  picaroon  ac- 
quire nasty  tricks  with  knives;  and  have  an  uncanny 
skill  at  their  use. 

Brice  twisted  to  one  side,  with  a  sharp  suddenness 
that  ail-but  threw  his  back  out  of  joint.  The  knife 
whizzed  through  the  still  air  like  a  great  hornet.  The 
breath  of  its  passage  fanned  Gavin's  averted  face,  as  he 
wrenched  his  head  out  of  its  path. 


28  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

The  collie  had  watched  the  supposed  gambols  of 
the  two  men  with  keen,  but  impersonal,  interest.  But 
here  at  last  was  something  he  could  understand.  In- 
stinct teaches  practically  every  dog  the  sinister  nature 
of  a  thrown  object.  The  man  on  the  ground  had 
hurled  something  at  the  man  whom  the  collie  had  be- 
gun to  love.  That  meant  warfare.  To  the  canine 
mind  it  could  mean  nothing  else. 

And,  ruff  a-bristle  and  teeth  bared,  the  dog  flew  at 
the  beach  comber.  The  latter  had  followed  his  throw 
by  leaping  to  his  feet.  But,  as  he  rose,  the  collie 
was  at  him.  For  an  instant,  the  furry  whirlwind  was 
snarling  murderously  at  his  throat;  and  the  man  was 
beating  convulsively  at  this  unexpected  new  enemy. 

Then,  almost  before  the  collie  could  slash  to  the 
bone  one  of  the  hairy  big  hands  that  thrust  him  back- 
ward, Gavin  Brice  had  reached  the  spot  in  a  single 
bound ;  had  shoved  the  dog  to  one  side  and  was  at  the 
man. 

"Clear  out,  puppy !"  he  shouted,  imperatively.  "This 
is  my  meat!  When  people  get  to  slinging  knives, 
there's  no  more  sense  in  handling  them  with  gloves!" 

The  debonaire  laziness  was  gone  from  Brice's  voice 
and  manner.  His  face  was  dead-white.  His  eyes 
were  blazing.  His  mouth  was  a  mere  gash  in  the 
grim  face.  Even  as  he  spoke,  he  had  thrust  the  snarling 
collie  away ;  and  was  at  the  beach-comber. 

No  longer  was  it  a  question  of  boxing  or  of  half- 
jesting  horseplay.  The  use  of  the  knife  had  put 
this  fight  on  a  new  plane.  And,  like  a  wild  beast,  Gavin 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  29 

Brice  was  attacking  his  big  foe.  But,  unlike  a  wild 
beast,  he  kept  his  head,  as  he  charged. 

Disregarding  the  menace  of  the  huge  arms,  he  came 
to  grips,  without  striking  a  single  blow.  Around  him 
the  beach-comber  flung  his  constricting  grasp.  But 
this  time  the  grip  was  worthless. 

For,  Brice's  left  shoulder  jutted  out  in  such  manner 
as  to  keep  the  arms  from  getting  their  former  hold 
around  the  body  itself;  and  Brice's  right  elbow  held 
off  the  grip  on  the  other  side.  At  the  same  time  the 
top  of  Brice's  head  buried  itself  under  the  beach- 
comber's chin,  forcing  the  giant's  jaw  upward  and 
backward.  Then,  safe  inside  his  opponent's  guard,  he 
abandoned  his  effort  to  stave  off  the  giant's  hold ;  and 
passed  his  own  arms  about  the  other's  waist,  his  hands 
meeting  under  the  small  of  the  larger  man's  back. 

The  beach  comber  tried  now  to  use  his  freed  arms  to 
gain  the  grip  that  had  once  been  so  effective.  But  his 
clasp  could  close  only  over  the  slope  of  Brice's  back 
and  could  find  no  purchase. 

While  the  man  was  groping  for  the  right  hold,  Ga- 
vin threw  all  his  own  power  into  a  single  move.  Tight- 
ening his  underhold,  and  drawing  in  on  .the  small  of 
the  giant's  back,  he  raised  himself  on  his  toes,  and 
pressed  the  top  of  his  head,  with  all  his  might,  against 
the  bottom  of  the  beach-comber's  chin. 

The  trick  was  not  new.  But  it  was  fearsomely  ef- 
fective. It  was,  as  Gavin  had  explained,  all  a  question 
of  leverage.  The  giant's  waist  was  drawn  forward. 
His  chin,  simultaneously,  was  shoved  backward.  Such 
a  dual  cross  pressure  was  due,  eventually,  to  mean  one 


30  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

of  two  things : — either  the  snapping  of  the  spine  or  else 
the  breaking  of  the  neck.  Unless  the  grip  could  be 
broken,  there  was  no  earthly  help  for  its  victim. 

The  beach  comber,  in  agony  of  straining  spine  and 
throat,  thrashed  wildly  to  free  himself.  He  strove  to 
batter  the  tenacious  little  man  to  senselessness.  But 
he  could  hit  nothing  but  the  sloping  back,  or  aim  clum- 
sily cramped  hooks  for  the  top  and  sides  of  Gavin's 
protected  head. 

Meantime,  the  pressure  was  increasing,  with  a  coldly 
scientific  precision.  Human  nature  could  not  endure 
it.  In  his  extremity,  the  beach  comber  attempted  the 
same  ruse  that  had  been  so  successful  for  Brice.  He 
slumped,  in  pseudo-helplessness.  The  only  result  was 
to  enable  Gavin  to  tighten  his  hold,  unopposed  by  the 
tensing  of  the  enemy's  wall  of  muscles. 

"I'm  through!"  bellowed  the  tortured  giant,  stran- 
glingly;  his  entire  huge  body  one  horror  of  agony. 
"'Nuff!  I'm " 

He  got  no  further.  For,  the  unspeakable  anguish 
mounted  to  his  brain.  And  he  swooned. 

Gavin  Brice  let  the  great  body  slide  inert  to  the  sand. 
He  stood,  flushed  and  panting  a  little,  looking  down  at 
the  hulk  he  had  so  nearly  annihilated.  Then,  as  the 
beach  comber's  limbs  began  to  twitch  and  his  eyelids  to 
quiver,  Brice  turned  away. 

"Come  along,  puppy,"  he  bade  the  wildly  excited  col- 
lie. "He  isn't  dead.  Another  couple  of  seconds  and 
his  neck  or  his  back  must  have  gone.  I'm  glad  he 
fainted  first.  A  killing  isn't  a  nice  thing  to  remember, 
on  wakeful  nights; — the  killing  of  even  a  cur  like  that. 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  31 

Come  on,  before  he  wakes  up.  I'm  going  somewhere. 
And  it's  a  stroke  of  golden  luck  that  I've  got  you  to 
take  with  me,  by  way  of  welcome." 

He  had  picked  up  and  pocketed  his  watch.  Now, 
lifting  the  knife,  he  glanced  shudder ingly  at  its  ugly 
curved  blade.  Then  he  tossed  it  far  out  into  the  water. 
After  which,  he  chirped  again  to  the  gladly  following 
collie  and  made  off  down  the  beach,  toward  a  loop  of 
mangrove  swamp  that  swelled  out  into  the  water  a 
quarter-mile  farther  on. 

The  dog  gamboled  gayly  about  him,  as  they  walked ; 
and  tried  to  entice  him  into  a  romp.  Prancing  invit- 
ingly toward  Brice,  the  collie  would  then  flee  from  him 
in  simulated  terror.  Next,  crouching  in  front  of  him, 
the  dog  would  snatch  up  a  mouthful  of  sand,  growl, 
and  make  pattering  gestures  with  his  white  forefeet 
at  Gavin's  dusty  shoes. 

Failing  to  lure  his  new  master  into  a  frolic,  the  dog 
fell  sober  and  paced  majestically  alongside  him;  once 
or  twice  earning  an  absent-minded  pat  on  the  head  by 
thrusting  his  muzzle  into  the  cup  of  the  walker's  hand. 

As  they  neared  the  loop  of  the  swamp,  the  collie 
looked  back,  and  growled  softly,  under  his  breath. 
Gavin  followed  the  direction  of  the  dog's  gaze.  He 
saw  the  beach  comber  sit  up ;  and  then,  with  much  pain 
and  difficulty,  get  swayingly  to  his  feet. 

"Don't  worry,  old  chap,"  Gavin  said  to  the  growl- 
ing collie.  "He's  had  all  he  can  carry,  for  one  day. 
He's  not  going  to  follow  us.  By  this  time,  he'll  be- 
gin to  realize,  too,  that  his  face  is  battered  pretty 
much  to  a  pulp;  and  that  some  of  my  body-smashes  are 


32  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

flowering  into  bruises.  I  pity  him  when  he  wakes  up 
to-morrow.  He'll  be  too  stiff  to  move  an  inch,  without 
grunting.  His  pluck  and  his  nerve  are  no  match  for 
his  strength.  .  .  .  Here  we  are !"  he  broke  off,  begin- 
ning to  skirt  the  hither  edge  of  the  swamp.  "Unless 
all  my  dope  is  wrong,  it  ought  to  be  somewhere  close 
to  this." 

He  walked  more  slowly;  his  keen  eyes  busily  prob- 
ing the  impenetrable  face  of  the  swamp.  He  was  prac- 
tically at  the  very  end  of  the  beach.  In  front,  the 
mangroves  ran  out  into  the  water;  and  in  an  unbroken 
line  they  extended  far  back  to  landward. 

The  shining  dark  leaves  made  a  thick  screen,  shut- 
ting from  view  the  interior  of  the  swamp.  The  red- 
dish roots  formed  an  equally  impenetrable  fence,  two 
feet  high,  all  along  the  edge.  It  would  have  been 
easier  to  walk  through  a  hedge  of  bayonets  than  to 
invade  that  barrier. 

"Where  mangroves  grow,  puppy,"  exhorted  Brice, 
"there  is  water.  Salt  water,  at  that.  The  water 
runs  in,  far,  here.  You  can  see  that,  by  the  depth  of 
this  mangrove  forest.  At  first  glance,  it  looks  like  an 
impasse,  doesn't  it?  And  yet  it  isn't.  Because " 

He  broke  off,  in  his  ruminative  talk.  The  collie, 
bored  perhaps,  by  standing  still  so  long,  had  at  first 
turned  seaward.  But,  as  a  wavelet  washed  against 
his  white  forefeet,  he  drew  back,  annoyed;  and  began 
aimlessly  to  skirt  the  swamp,  to  landward.  Before 
he  had  traveled  twenty  yards,  he  vanished. 

For  a  second  or  so,  Gavin  Brice  stared  stupidly  at 
the  phenomenon  of  the  jungle-like  wall  of  mangroves 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  33 

that  had  swallowed  a  seventy-pound  dog.  Then  his 
brow  cleared;  and  a  glint -of  eagerness  came  into  his 
eye.  Almost  running,  he  hurried  to  the  spot  where 
the  dog  had  vanished.  Then  he  halted;  and  called 
softly : 

"Come,  puppy !    Here!" 

In  immediate  obedience  to  his  call,  the  dog  reap- 
peared, at  the  swamp's  edge;  wagging  his  plumy  tail; 
glad  to  be  summoned.  Before  the  collie  could  stir,  Brice 
was  at  his  side ;  taking  sharp  note  of  the  direction  from 
which  the  dog  had  just  stepped  out  of  the  mangroves. 

In  front,  the  wall  of  leaves  and  branches  still  hung; 
seemingly  impenetrable.  The  chief  difference  between 
this  spot  and  any  on  either  side,  was  that  the  man- 
grove boughs  had  apparently  been  trained  to  hang  so 
low  that  the  roots  were  invisible. 

Tentatively,  Brice  drew  aside  an  armful  of  branches ; 
just  above  the  waiting  dog.  And,  as  though  he  had 
pulled  back  a  curtain,  he  found  himself  facing  a  well- 
defined  path;  cut  through  the  tangled  thicket  of  root 
and  trunk  and  bough — a  path  that  wound  out  of 
sight  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  swamps. 

Roots  had  been  cleared  away  and  patches  of  water 
filled  with  them  and  with  earth.  Here  and  there  a 
plank  bridge  spanned  a  gap  of  deeper  water.  Alto- 
gether— so  far  as  Brice  could  judge  in  the  fading 
light — the  path  was  an  excellent  bit  of  rustic  engineer- 
ing. And  it  was  hidden  as  cunningly  from  casual 
eyes  as  ever  was  a  hermit  thrush's  nest. 

Some  one  had  been  at  much  pains  and  at  more  ex- 
pense, to  lay  out  and  develop  that  secret  trail.  For  it 


34  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

is  no  easy  or  cheap  task  to  build  a  sure  path  through 
such  a  swamp. 

From  a  distance,  forests  of  mangrove  seemed  to  be 
massed  on  rising  ground;  and  to  group  themselves 
about  the  sides  and  the  crests  of  knolls.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  presence  of  a  mangrove  forest  is  a  sign 
of  the  very  lowest  ground; — ground  covered  for  the 
most  part  by  salt  tidewater.  The  lowest  pine  barren 
is  higher  than  the  loftiest  mangrove  wilderness. 

Gavin  Brice's  aspect  of  lassitude  dropped  from  him 
like  an  outworn  garment.  For  hours — except  during 
his  brief  encounter  with  the  beach  comber — he  had 
been  steadily  on  the  move;  and  had  covered  a  good 
bit  of  ground.  Yet,  any  one,  seeing  him  as  he  traversed 
the  *miles  from  the  Royal  Palm  Park  at  Miami,  would 
have  supposed  from  his  gait  that  he  was  on  some 
aimless  ramble.  Now,  alert,  quick-stepping,  eager, 
he  made  his  swift  way  along  the  windings  of  the  secret 
path. 

Light  as  were  his  steps,  they  creaked  lamentably 
at  times  on  the  boards  of  a  bridge-span.  More  than 
once,  he  heard  slitherings,  in  the. water  and  marsh  to 
either  side;  as  some  serpent  or  other  slimy  swamp- 
dweller  wriggled  away,  at  his  passing.  The  collie 
trotted  gravely  along,  just  in  front  of  him;  pausing 
once  in  a  while,  as  if  to  make  certain  the  man  was 
following. 

The  silence  and  gloom  and  sinister  solemnity  of  the 
place  had  had  a  dampening  effect  on  the  dog's  gay 
spirits.  The  backward  glances  at  his  self-chosen  mas- 
ter were  for  reassuring  himself,  rather  than  for 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  35 

guidance.  Surroundings  have  quicker  and  stronger 
effect  on  collies  than  on  almost  any  other  kind  of  dog. 
And  these  surroundings,  very  evidently,  were  not  to 
the  collie's  taste.  Several  times,  when  the  path's  width 
permitted,  he  dropped  back  to  Gavin's  side,  to  receive 
a  word  of  friendly  encouragement  or  a  pat  on  the  head. 

Outside  of  the  grove's  shadows  the  sun  was  sinking. 
Not  with  the  glowing  deliberation  of  sunsets  in  north- 
ern latitudes;  but  with  almost  indecent  haste.  In  the 
dense  shade  of  the  forest,  twilight  had  fallen.  But  the 
path  still  lay  clear.  And  Brice's  footsteps  quickened, 
as  in  a  race  with  darkness. 

Then,  at  a  twist  of  the  path,  the  way  suddenly  grew 
lighter.  And  at  another  turn,  twilight  brightened  into 
clearness.  A  hundred  feet  ahead  was  a  thin  interlacing 
of  moonflower  vines;  compact  enough,  no  doubt,  to 
prevent  a  view  of  the  path  to  any  one  standing  in  the 
stronger  light  beyond  the  grove ;  but  making  distinct  to 
Brice  a  grassy  clearing  beyond. 

Upon  this  clearing,  the  brief  bright  afterglow  was 
shining;  for  the  trim  grass  and  shrubs  of  an  upward- 
sloping  lawn  were  clearly  visible.  For  some  minutes 
the  water  and  the  swamp  underfoot,  had  given  place 
to  firmer  ground ;  and  the  character  of  the  trees  them- 
selves had  changed.  Evidently,  the  trail  had  its  end- 
ing at  that  screen  of  vine-leaves  draped  between  two 
giant  gumbo-limbo  trees  at  the  lawn's  verge. 

Thirty  feet  from  the  vines,  Brice  slackened  his  steps. 
His  lithe  body  was  vibrant  with  cautious  watchfulness. 
But,  the  collie  was  not  inclined  to  caution.  He  hailed 
with  evident  relief  the  sight  of  open  spaces  and  of  light, 


36  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

after  the  gloomy  trail's  windings.  And  he  broke  into 
a  canter. 

Fearing  to  call  aloud,  Brice  chirped  and  hissed 
softly  at  the  careering  dog.  The  collie,  at  sound  of  the 
recall,  hesitated ;  then  began  to  trot  back  toward  Gavin. 
But,  glancing  wistfully  toward  the  light,  as  he  started 
to  obey  the  summons,  his  eye  encountered  something 
which  swept  away  all  his  dawning  impulse  of  obedience. 

Athwart  the  bright  end  of  the  path,  sprang  a  furry 
gray  creature;  supple,  fluffy,  indescribably  formless 
and  immense  in  that  deceptive  half-light. 

Brice  peered  at  the  animal  in  astonishment,  seek- 
ing to  classify  it  in  his  mind.  But  the  collie  needed 
no  effort  of  that  sort.  At  first  sight  and  scent,  he  knew 
well  to  what  tribe  the  furry  gray  newcomer  belonged. 
And,  with  a  trumpet-bark  of  joyous  challenge,  he 
dashed  at  it. 

The  creature  fluffed  itself  to  double  its  former  size. 
Then,  spitting  and  yowling,  it  ran  up  the  nearer  of 
the  two  gumbo-limbo  trees.  The  dog  reached  the 
foot  of  the  tree  a  fraction  of  a  second  too  late  to  seize 
the  fox-like  tail  of  his  prey.  And  he  circled  wildly; 
barking  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  and  making  futile 
little  running  leaps  up  the  shining  trunk  of  the  tree. 

As  well  hope  for  secrecy  after  the  firing  of  a  cannon 
as  after  such  a  fanfare  of  barking!  Gavin  Brice  ran 
forward  to  grasp  the  rackety  collie.  As  he  did  so,  he 
was  vaguely  aware  that  a  slender  and  white-clad  form 
was  crossing  the  lawn,  at  a  run ;  toward  the  tree. 

At  the  path-end,  he  and  the  figure  came  face  to  face. 
Though  the  other's  back  was  to  the  fading  light,  Gavin 


THE  HIDDEN  PATH  37 

knew  her  for  the  girl  he  had  seen  in  the  Australian 
pine  lane,  at  Miami,  that  day. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  began,  trying  in  vain  to  make 
himself  audible  through  the  collie's  frantic  barking. 
"I  found  your  dog;  and  I  have  brought  him  back  to 
you.  We " 

The  glib  explanation  died,  in  his  amazement-contract- 
ing throat.  For,  at  his  first  word,  the  girl  had  checked 
her  run  and  had  stood  for  an  instant,  gazing  wide- 
eyed  at  him.  Then,  clapping  one  little  hand  to  her 
side,  she  produced  from  somewhere  a  flash  of  metal. 

And  Gavin  Brice  found  himself  blinking  stupidly  into 
the  muzzle  of  a  small  revolver ;  held,  unwaveringly,  not 
three  feet  from  his  face.  Behind  the  gun  were  a  pair 
of  steady  gray  eyes  and  a  face  whose  dainty  outlines 
were  just  now  set  in  a  mask  of  icy  grimness. 

"That  isn't  a  bluff,"  ran  his  involuntary  thoughts, 
as  he  read  the  eyes  behind  the  ridiculously  tiny  weapon. 
"She  really  means  to  shoot!" 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK 

FOR  several  seconds  the  two  stood  thus;  the  man 
dumfounded,  moveless,  gaping;  the  girl  as  grimly 
resolute  as  Fate  itself;  the  little  revolver  steady, 
its  muzzle  unwaveringly  menacing  Brice's  face.  The 
collie  continued  to  gyrate,  thunderously  around  the  tree 
foot. 

"I  don't  want  to  shoot  you,"  said  the  girl  presently, 
and,  through  her  voice's  persistent  sternness,  Gavin 
fancied  he  could  read  a  thrill  of  very  feminine  con- 
cern. "I  don't  want  to  shoot  you.  If  I  can  help  it. 
You  will  put  your  hands  up." 

Meekly,  Brice  obeyed. 

"Now,"  she  resumed,  "you  will  turn  around,  and 
go  back  the  way  you  came.  And  you  will  go  as  fast 
as  you  can  travel.  I  shall  follow  you  to  the  second 
turning.  Then  I  shall  fire  into  the  air.  That  will 
bring — one  or  more  of  the  men.  And  they  will  see 
you  don't  turn  back.  I'm — I'm  giving  you  that  much 
chance  to  get  away.  Because  I — I  don't  want '" 

She  hesitated.  The  grimness  had  begun  to  seep 
out  of  her  sweet  voice.  The  revolver-muzzle  wobbled, 
ever  so  little. 

"I'm  sorry,"  began  Brice.     "But " 

41 


42  BLACK  CJESAR'S  CLAN 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  any  explanations,"  she  cut  him 
short,  sternly.  "Your  coming  along  that  path  could 
mean  only  one  thing.  You  will  do  as  I  say : — You  will 
turn  about  and  make  what  use  you  can  of  the  start 
I'm  offering  you.  Now " 

"I'm  sorry,"  repeated  Brice,  more  determinedly,  and 
trying  hard  to  keep  his  twitching  face  straight.  "But 
I  can't  do  what  you  ask.  It  was  hard  enough  coming 
along  that  path,  while  the  light  lasted.  If  I  were  to 
go  back  over  it  in  the  dark,  I'd  break  my  neck  on  a 
million  mangrove  roots.  If  it's  just  the  same  to  you, 
I'll  take  my  chances  with  the  pistol.  It'll  be  an  easier 
death,  and  in  pleasanter  company.  So,  if  you  really 
must  shoot — then  blaze  away!" 

He  lowered  his  upraised  arms,  folding  them  melo- 
dramatically on  his  breast;  while  he  sought,  through 
the  gloom,  to  note  the  effect  of  his  solemnly  uttered 
speech.  The  effect  was  far  different  and  less  sensa- 
tional than  he  had  expected.  At  the  first  sound  of  his 
voice  that  was  audible  above  the  collie's  barks,  the 
girl  lowered  the  revolver  and  leaned  forward  to  get  a 
clearer  view  of  his  face,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
vine-leaves. 

"I — I  thought — — "  she  stammered;  and  added 
lamely : 

"I  thought  you  were — were — were  some  one  else." 

She  paused;  then  she  went  on  with  some  slight  re- 
turn of  her  earlier  sternness : 

"Just  the  same,  your  coming  here  by  that  path " 

"There  is  no  magic  about  it,"  he  assured  her,  "and 
very  little  mystery.  I  was  taking  a  stroll  along  the 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        43 

shore,  when  I  happened  upon  that  mass  of  dynamite 
and  fur  and  springs,  yonder.  (In  his  rare  moments 
of  calm,  he  is  a  collie; — the  best  type  of  show  collie, 
at  that.)  He  ran  ahead  of  me,  through  the  tangle  of 
mangrove  boughs.  I  followed ;  and  found  a  path.  He 
seemed  anxious  to  explore  the  path;  and  I  kept  on 
following  him;  until " 

The  girl  seemed  for  the  first  time  aware  of  the 
dog's  noisy  presence. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  the  rackety  and 
leaping  collie  in  much  surprise.  "I  thought  it  was  the 
stable  dog  that  had  treed  Simon  Cameron !  I  didn't  no- 
tice. He Why !"  she  cried,  "that's  Bobby  Burns ! 

We  lost  him,  on  the  way  here  from  the  station!  My 
brother  has  gone  back  to  Miami  to  offer  a  reward  for 
him.  He  came  from  the  North,  this  morning.  We 
drove  into  town  to  get  him.  On  the  way  out,  he  must 
have  fallen  from  the  back  seat.  We  didn't  miss  him 
till  we .  How  did  you  happen  to  find  him?" 

"He  was  on  the  beach,  back  yonder,"  explained 
Brice.  "He  seemed  to  adopt  me,  and  I " 

"Haven't  I  met  you,  somewhere?''  she  broke  in, 
studying  his  dim-seen  face  more  intently  and  at  closer 
range. 

"No,"  he  made  answer.  "But  you've  seen  me.  At 
least  I  saw  you.  You,  and  a  big  man  with  a  gold 
beard  and  a  white  silk  suit,  and  this  collie,  were  in  a 
car;  listening  to  Bryan's  sermon,  this  morning.  I  recog- 
nized the  collie,  as  soon  as  I  saw  him  again.  And  I 
guessed  what  must  have  happened.  I  guessed,  too,  that 
he  was  a  new  dog ;  and  that  he  hadn't  learned  the  way 


44  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

home,  yet.  It's  lucky  I  was  able  to  bring  him  to  you. 
Or,  rather,  that  he  was  able  to  bring  himself  to  you." 

"And  to  think  I  rewarded  you  for  all  your  trouble,  by 
threatening  to  shoot  you !"  she  said,  in  sharp  contrition. 

"Oh,  please  don't  feel  sorry  for  that!"  he  begged. 
"It  wasn't  really  as  deadly  as  you  made  it  seem.  That 
is  an  old  style  revolver,  you  see; — vintage  of  1 880  or 
thereabouts,  I  should  say.  Not  a  self-cocker.  And, 
you'll  notice  it  isn't  cocked.  So,  even  if  you  had  stuck 
to  your  lethal  threat  and  had  pulled  the  trigger  ever 
so  hard,  I'd  still  be  more  or  less  alive.  You'll  excuse 
me  for  mentioning  it,"  he  ended  in  apology,  noting  her 
crestfallen  air.  "Any  novice  in  the  art  of  slaying 
might  have  done  the  same  thing.  Shooting  people  is 
an  accomplishment  that  improves  with  practice." 

Coldly,  she  turned  away,  and  crossed  to  where  the 
collie  was  beginning  to  weary  of  his  fruitless  efforts  to 
climb  the  shinily  smooth  bark  of  the  giant  gumbo- 
limbo.  Catching  him  by  the  collar,  she  said : 

"Bobby!  Bobby  Burns!  Stop  that  silly  barking! 
Stop  it  at  once !  And  leave  poor  little  Simon  Cameron 
alone!  Aren't  you  ashamed?" 

Now,  Bobby  was  not  in  the  least  ashamed; — except 
for  his  failure  to  reach  his  elusive  prey.  But,  like 
many  highbred  and  highstrung  collies,  he  did  not  fancy 
having  his  collar  seized  by  a  stranger.  He  did  not 
resent  the  act  with  snarls  and  a  show  of  teeth,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  beach  comber.  But  he  stiffened  to  offended 
dignity;  and,  with  a  sudden  jerk,  freed  himself  from 
the  little  detaining  hand. 

Then,  loftily,  he  stalked  across  to  Gavin  and  thrust 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        45 

his  muzzle  once  more  into  the  man's  cupped  palm. 
As  clearly  as  by  a  dictionary-ful  of  words,  he  had  re- 
buked her  familiarity  and  had  shown  to  whom  he  felt 
he  owed  sole  allegiance. 

While  the  girl  was  still  staring  in  rueful  indignation 
at  this  snub  from  her  dog,  Brice  found  time  and 
thought  to  stare  with  still  greater  intentness  up  the 
tree,  at  a  bunch  of  bristling  fur  which  occupied  the 
first  crotch  and  which  glared  wrath  fully  down  at  the 
collie. 

He  made  out  the  contour  and  bashed-in  profile  of  a 
huge  Persian  cat,  silver-gray  of  hue;  dense  of  -coat, 
green  of  eye. 

"So  that's  Simon  Cameron?"  he  queried.  "What  a 
beauty!  And  what  a  quaintly  Oriental  name  you've 
chosen  for  him!" 

"He  is  named,"  said  the  girl,  still  icily,  "for  a  states- 
man my  parents  admired.  My  brother  says  our  Per- 
sian's hair  is  just  the  same  color  as  Simon  Cameron's 
used  to  be.  That's  why  we  named  him  that.  You'll 
notice  the  cat  has  the  beauti  fullest  silvery  gray 
hair " 

"Prematurely  gray,  I'm  sure,"  put  in  Brice,  civilly. 

She  looked  at  him,  in  doubt.  But  his  face  was  grave. 
And  she  turned  to  the  task  of  coaxing  the  indignant 
Simon  Cameron  from  his  tree-refuge. 

"Simon  Cameron  always  walks  around  the  grounds 
with  me,  at  sunset,"  she  explained,  in  intervals  of 
cajoling  the  grumpy  mass  of  fluff  to  descend.  "And  he 
ran  ahead  of  me,  to-day,  to  the  edge  of  the  path.  That 
must  have  been  when  Bobby  caught  sight  of  him.  .  .  . 


46  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

Come,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty!"  she  coaxed.  "Do  be  a 
good  little  cat;  and  come  down.  See,  the  dog  can't 
get  at  you,  now.  He's  being  held.  Come !" 

The  allurement  of  his  mistress's  voice  produced  no 
stirring  effect  on  the  temperamental  Simon  Cameron. 
Beyond  leaving  the  crotch  and  edging  mincingly  down- 
ward, a  yard  or  so,  the  Persian  refused  to  obey  the 
crooning  summons.  Plastered  flat  against  the  tree 
trunk,  some  nine  feet  above  the  ground,  he  miaued 
dolefully. 

"Hold  Bobby's  collar,"  suggested  Brice,  "and  I 
think  I  can  get  the  prematurely  grizzled  catling  to 
earth." 

The  girl  came  over  to  where  man  and  dog  stood; 
and  took  Bobby  Burns  by  the  collar.  Brice  crossed 
to  the  tree  and  looked  upward  at  the  yowling  Simon 
Cameron. 

"Hello,  you  good  little  cat!"  he  hailed,  cooingly. 
"Cats  always  like  to  be  called  'good,'  you  know.  All 
of  us  are  flattered  when  we're  praised  for  something 
we  aren't.  A  dog  doesn't  care  much  about  being1 
called  'good/  Because  he  knows  he  is.  But  a  cat " 

As  he  talked,  Gavin  scratched  gratingly  on  the  tree- 
trunk;  and  gazed  up  in  ostentatious  admiration  at  the 
coy  Simon  Cameron.  The  Persian,  like  all  his  kind, 
was  foolishly  open  to  admiration.  Brice's  look,  his 
crooning  voice,  his  entertaining  fashion  of  scratching 
the  tree  for  the  cat's  amusement — all  these  proved  a 
genuine  lure.  Down  the  tree  started  Simon  Cameron, 
moving  backward,  and  halting  coquettishly  at  every 
few  inches. 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        47 

Gavin  reached  up  and  lifted  the  fluffy  creature  from 
the  trunk,  cradling  him  in  expert  manner  in  the  crook 
of  one  arm.  Simon  Cameron  forgot  his  fear  and 
purred  loudly;  rubbing  his  snub-nose  face  against  his 
captor's  sleeve. 

"Don't  feel  too  much  flattered,"  adjured  the  girl. 
"He's  like  that,  with  all  strangers.  As  soon  as  he  has 
known  most  people  a  day  or  two,  he'll  have  nothing  to 
do  with  them." 

"I  know,"  assented  Gavin.  "That's  a  trick  of  Per- 
sian cats.  They  have  an  inordinate  interest  in  every 
one  except  the  people  they  know.  Their  idea  of  heaven 
is  to  be  admired  by  a  million  strangers  at  a  time.  If 
I'd  had  any  tobaccos-reek  on  me,  Simon  Cameron 
wouldn't  have  let  me  hold  him  as  long  as  this.  Per- 
sian's hate  tobacco." 

He  set  the  soothed  animal  down  on  the  lawn,  where, 
after  one  scornful  look  at  the  tugging  and  helpless 
dog,  Simon  Cameron  proceeded  to  rub  his  arched  back 
against  the  man's  legs;  thus  transferring  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  fluffy  gray  hairs  to  Brice's  shabby  trousers.  Tir- 
ing of  this,  he  minced  off,  affectedly,  toward  the  dis- 
tant house  that  stood  at  the  landward  end  of  the 
sloping  lawn. 

As  he  set  the  cat  down,  Brice  had  stepped  out  of  the 
shadows  of  the  grove,  into  the  open.  And  now,  not 
only  his  face,  but  his  whole  body  was  clearly  visible 
in  the  dying  daylight.  The  girl's  eyes  ran  appraisingly 
over  the  worn  clothes  and  the  cracking  and  dusty 
shoes.  Brice  felt,  rather  than  saw,  her  appraisal.  And 
he  knew  she  was  contrasting  his  costume  with  his  voice 


48  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

and  his  clean-shaven  face.  She  broke  the  moment  of 
embarrassed  silence  by  saying : 

"You  must  be  tired  after  your  long  tramp,  from 
Miami.  Were  you  walking  for  fun  and  exercise;  or 
are  you  bound  for  any  especial  place?" 

He  knew  she  was  fencing; — that  his  clothes  made 
her  wonder  if  she  ought  not  to  offer  him  some  cash 
payment  for  finding  her  dog; — a  reward  she  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  offering,  on  the  strength  of 
his  manner  and  voice.  Also,  it  seemed,  she  was  seek- 
ing some  way  of  closing  the  interview  without  dismiss- 
ing him  or  walking  away.  And  he  answered  with  per- 
fect simplicity: 

"No,  I  wasn't  walking  for  exercise  or  fun.  There 
are  better  and  easier  ways  of  acquiring  fun  than  by 
plodding  for  hours  in  the  hot  sunshine.  And  of 
getting  exercise,  too.  I  was  on  my  way  to  Home- 
stead or  to  some  farming  place  along  the  line;  where 
I  might  pick  up  a  job." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes.  I  could  probably  have  gotten  a  place  as  dish- 
washer or  even  as  a  'bus'  or  porter,  in  one  of  the  big 
Miami  hotels,"  he  pursued,  "or  a  billet  with  one  of 
the  dredging  gangs  in  the  harbor.  But  somehow  I'd 
rather  do  farm  work  of  some  sort.  It  seems  less  of 
a  slump,  when  a  chap  is  down  on  his  luck;  than  to 
go  in  for  scrubbing  or  for  section-gang  hustling. 
There  are  farms  and  citrus  groves,  all  along  here,  just 
back  of  the  bay.  And  I'm  looking  for  one  of  them 
where  I  can  get  a  decent  day's  work  to  do  and  a  de- 
cent day's  wages  for  doing  it." 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        49 

He  spoke  with  an  almost  overdone  earnestness.  The 
girl  was  watching  him,  attentively;  a  furrow  between 
her  straight  brows.  Somehow,  her  level  look  made 
him  uncomfortable.  He  continued,  with  a  shade  less 
assurance : 

"I  was  brought  up  on  a  farm;  though  I  haven't 
been  on  one  since  I  was  eighteen.  I  might  have  been 
better  off  if  I'd  stayed  there.  Anyhow,  when  a  man's 
prospects  of  starving  are  growing  brighter  every  day, 
a  farm-job  is  about  the  pleasantest  sort  of  work  he 
can  find." 

"Starving!"  she  repeated,  in  something  like  con- 
tempt. "If  you  had  been  in  this  region  a  little  longer 
! — say,  long  enough  to  pronounce  the  name,  'Miami'  as 
it's  pronounced  down  here,  instead  of  calling  it  'Me- 
a/i-mee,'  as  you  did — if  you'd  been  here  longer,  you'd 
know  that  nobody  need  starve  in  Florida.  Nobody 
who  is  willing  to  work.  There's  the  fishing;  and  the 
construction  gangs;  and  the  groves;  and  the  farms; 
and  a  million  other  ways  of  making  a  living.  The 
weather  lets  you  sleep  outdoors,  if  you  have  to. 
The " 

"I've  done  it,"  he  chimed  in.  "Slept  outdoors,  I 
mean.  Last  night,  for  instance.  I  slept  very  snugly 
indeed;  under  a  Traveler  Tree  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Royal  Palm  Hotel.  There  was  a  dance  at  the  hotel.  I 
went  to  sleep,  under  the  stars,  to  the  lullaby  of  a  cork- 
ing good  orchestra.  The  only  drawback  was  that  a 
spooning  couple  who  were  engineering  a  'petting  party/ 
almost  sat  down  on  my  head,  there  in  the  darkness. 
Not  that  I'd  have  minded  being  a  settee  for  them. 


50  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

But  they  might  have  told  one  of  the  watchmen  about 
my  being  there.  And  I'd  have  had  to  hunt  other 
sleeping  quarters." 

She  did  not  abate  that  look  of  quizzical  appraisal. 
And  again  Gavin  Brice  began  to  feel  uncomfortable 
under  her  scrutiny. 

"You  have  an  orange  grove,  back  yonder,  haven't 
you?"  he  asked,  abruptly;  nodding  toward  a  land- 
ward stretch  of  ground  shut  off  from  the  lawn  by  a 
thickset  hedge  of  oleander. 

"How  did  you  know?"  she  demanded  in  suspicion, 
"By  this  light  you  couldn't  possibly  see " 

"Oddly  enough,"  he  said,  in  the  pleasant  drawling 
voice  she  was  learning  to  like  in  spite  of  her  better 
judgment,  "oddly  enough,  I  was  born  with  a  service- 
able pair  of  nostrils.  There  is  a  scent  of  orange  blos- 
soms, hanging  fairly  strong  in  the  air.  It  doesn't  come 
from  the  mangrove  swamp  behind  me  or  from  the 
highroad  in  front  of  your  house  or  from  the  big 
garden  patch  to  the  south  of  the  lawn.  So  I  made  a 
Sherlock  Holmes  guess  that  it  must  be  over  there  to 
northward;  and  pretty  close.  Besides,  that's  the  only 
direction  the  Trade  Winds  could  bring  the  scent  from." 

Again,  she  was  aware  of  a  certain  glibness  in  his 
tone; — a  glibness  that  annoyed  her  and  at  the  same 
time  piqued  her  curiosity. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  none  too  cordially.  "Our  orange 
groves  are  there.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Only,"  he  replied,  "because  where  there  are  large 
citrus  groves  on  one  side  of  a  house  and  fairly  big 
vegetable  gardens  on  the  other,  it  means  the  need  for 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        51 

a  good  bit  of  labor.  And  that  may  mean  a  chance  for 
a  job.  Or  it  may  not.  You'll  pardon  my  suggesting 
it." 

"My  brother  needs  no  more  labor,"  she  replied.  "At 
least,  I  am  quite  certain  he  doesn't.  In  fact,  he  has 
more  men  working  here  now  than  he  actually  needs. 
I — I've  heard  him  say  so.  Of  course,  I'll  be  glad  to  ask 
him,  when  he  comes  back  from  town.  And  if  you'd 
care  to  leave  your  address " 

"Gladly,"  said  Brice.  "Any  letter  addressed  to  me, 
as  'Gavin  Brice,  in  care  of  Traveler  Tree,  rear  gardens 
of  Royal  Palm  Hotel,'  will  reach  me.  Unless,  of 
course,  the  night  watchmen  chance  to  root  me  out.  In 
that  case,  I'll  leave  word  with  them  where  mail  may  be 
forwarded.  In  the  meantime,  it's  getting  pretty  dark ; 
and  I  don't  know  this  part  of  Dade  County  as  well  as 
I'd  like  to.  So  I'll  be  starting  on.  If  you  don't  mind, 
I'll  cross  your  lawn,  and  take  the  main  road.  It's  easier 
going,  at  night  than  by  way  of  the  mangrove  swamp 
and  the  beach.  Good  night,  Miss " 

"Wait!"  she  interposed,  worry  creeping  into  her 
sweet  voice.  "I — I  can't  let  you  go  like  this.  Do  you 
really  mean  you  have  to  sleep  out  of  doors  and  that 
you  have  no  money?  I  don't  want  to  be  impertinent, 
but " 

"  'Nobody  need  starve  in  Florida/ '  he  quoted, 
gravely.  "  'Nobody  who  is  willing  to  work.  The 
weather  lets  you  sleep  outdoors.'  (In  which,  the 
weather  chimes  harmoniously  with  my  pocketbook.) 
And,  as  I  am  extremely  'willing  to  work,'  it  follows 
that  I  can't  possibly  starve.  But  I  thank  you  for  feel- 


52  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

ing  concerned  about  me.  It's  a  long  day  since  a  wo- 
man has  bothered  her  head  whether  I  live  or  die.  Good 
night,  again,  Miss " 

A  second  time,  she  ignored  his  hint  that  she  tell  him 
her  name.  Too  much  worried  over  his  light  words  and 
the  real  need  they  seemed  to  cover,  to  heed  the  subtler 
intent,  she  said,  a  little  tremulously: 

"I — I  don't  understand  you,  at  all.  Not  that  it  is 
any  business  of  mine,  of  course.  But  I  hate  to  think 
that  any  one  is  in  need  of  food  or  shelter.  Your  voice 
and  your  face  and  the  way  you  talk — they  don't  fit  in 
with  the  rest  of  you.  Such  men  as  yourself  don't  drift, 
penniless,  through  Lower  Florida;  looking  for  day- 
laborer  jobs.  I  can't  understand " 

"Every  one  who  speaks  decent  English  and  yet  is 
down-and-out,"  he  said,  quietly,  "isn't  necessarily  a 
tramp  or  a  fugitive  from  justice.  And  he  doesn't 
need  to  be  a  man  of  mystery,  either.  Suppose,  let's 
say,  a  clerk  in  New  York  has  been  too  ill,  for  a  long 
time,  to  work.  Suppose  illness  has  eaten  all  his  sav- 
ings; and  that  he  doesn't  care  to  borrow,  when  he 
knows  he  may  never  be  able  to  pay.  Suppose  his  doc- 
tor tells  him  he  must  go  South,  to  get  braced  up,  and 
to  avoid  a  New  York  February  and  March.  Suppose 
the  patient  has  only  about  money  enough  to  get  here; 
and  relies  on  finding  something  to  do  to  keep  him  in 
food  and  lodging.  Well — there's  nothing  mysterious 
or  especially  discreditable  in  that,  is  there?  .  .  .  The 
dew  is  beginning  to  fall.  And  I'm  keeping  you  out 
here  in  the  damp.  Good  night,  Miss — Miss " 

"Standish,"  she  supplied,  but  speaking  absently,  her 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        53 

mind  still  perturbed  at  his  plight.    "My  name  is  Stan- 
dish.     Claire  Standish." 

"Mine  is  Gavin  Brice,"  he  said.  "Good  night.  Keep 
hold  of  Bobby  Burns's  collar,  till  I'm  well  on  my  way. 
He  may  try  to  follow  me.  Good-by,  old  chap,"  he 
added,  bending  down  and  taking  the  collie's  silken  head 
affectionately  between  his  hands.  "You're  a  good 
dog;  and  a  good  pal.  But  put  the  soft  pedal  on  the 
temperamental  stuff,  when  you're  near  Simon  Cam- 
eron. That's  the  best  recipe  for  avoiding  a  scratched 
nose.  By  the  way,  Miss  Standish,  don't  encourage 
him  to  roam  around  in  the  palmetto  scrub,  on  your 
outings  with  him.  The  rattlesnakes  have  gotten  many 
a  good  dog,  in  Florida.  He " 

"Mr.  Brice !"  she  broke  in.  "If  I  offend  you,  I  can't 
help  it.  Won't  you  please  let  me — let  me  lend  you 
enough  money  to  keep  you  going,  till  you  get  a  good 
job?  Please  do!  Of  course,  you  can  pay  me,  as  soon 
as " 

'  'I  have  not  found  such  faith ; — no,  not  in  Israel !' ' 
quoted  Brice,  a  new  note  in  his  voice  which  somehow 
stirred  the  embarrassed  girl's  heart.     "You  have  only 
my  bare  word  that  I'm  not  a  panhandler  or  a  crook. 
And  yet  you  believe  in  me  enough  to         " 

"You  will  let  me?"  she  urged,  eagerly.  "Say  you 
will !  Say  it." 

"I'll  make  cleaner  use  of  your  faith,"  he  returned, 
"by  asking  you  to  say  a  good  word  for  me  to  your 
brother,  if  ever  I  come  back  here  looking  for  a  job. 
No,  no!"  he  broke  off,  fiercely,  before  she  could  an- 


54  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

swer.  "I  don't  mean  that.  You  must  do  nothing  of 
the  kind.  Forget  I  asked  it." 

With  which  amazing  outburst,  he  turned  on  his 
heel,  ran  across  the  lawn,  leaped  the  low  privet  hedge 
which  divided  it  from  the  coral  road;  and  made  off  at 
a  swinging  pace  in  the  direction  of  Coconut  Grove  and 
Miami. 

"What  a  fool — and  what  a  cur — a  man  can  make 
of  himself,"  he  muttered  disgustedly  as  he  strode 
along,  without  daring  to  look  back  at  the  wondering 
little  white-clad  figure,  watching  him  out  of  sight 
around  the  bend,  "when  he  gets  to  talking  with  a  wo- 
man ; — a  woman  with — with  eyes  like  hers !  They — 
why,  they  make  me  feel  as  if  I  was  in  church !  What 
sort  of  bungling  novice  am  I,  anyhow,  for  work  like 
this?" 

With  a  grunt  of  self -contempt,  he  drove  his  hands 
deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  shabby  trousers  and 
quickened  his  pace.  His  fingers  closed  mechanically 
around  a  roll  of  bills,  of  very  respectable  size,  in  the 
depths  of  his  right-hand  pocket.  The  gesture  caused  a 
litter  of  small  change  to  give  forth  a  muffled  jingle.  A 
sense  of  shame  crept  over  the  man,  at  the  contact. 

"She  wanted  to  lend  me  money!"  he  muttered,  half- 
aloud.  "Money !  Not  give  it  to  me,  as  a  beggar ;  but 
to  lend  it  to  me.  .  .  .  Her  nose  has  the  funniest  little 
tilt  to  it!  And  she  can't  be  an  inch  over  five  feet 
tall!  ...  I'm  a  wall-eyed  idiot!" 

He  stood  aside  to  let  two  cars  pass  him ;  one  going  in 
either  direction.  The  lamps  of  the  car  from  the  west, 
traveling  east,  showed  him  for  a  moment  the  occupant 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        55 

of  the  car  that  was  moving  westward.  The  brief  ray 
shone  upon  a  pair  of  shoulders  as  wide  as  a  steam- 
radiator.  They  were  clad  in  loose-fitting  white  silk. 
Above  them  a  thick  golden  beard  caught  the  ray  of 
shifting  light.  Then,  both  cars  had  passed  on;  and 
Brice  was  resuming  his  trudge. 

"Milo  Standish!"  he  mused,  looking  back  at  the 
car  as  it  vanished  in  a  cloudlet  of  white  coral-dust. 
"Milo  Standish!  ...  As  big  as  two  elephants.  .  .  . 
'The  bigger  they  are,  the  harder  they  fall.' ' 

The  road  curved,  from  the  Standish  estate,  in  almost 
a  "C"  formation;  before  straightening  out,  a  mile  to 
the  north,  into  the  main  highway.  Gavin  Brice  had 
just  reached  the  end  of  the  "C"  when  there  was  a  scur- 
rying sound  behind  him,  in  a  grapefruit  grove  to  his 
right.  Something  light  and  agile  scrambled  over  the 
low  coral-block  wall;  and  flung  itself  rapturously  on 
him. 

It  was  Bobby  Burns. 

The  collie  had  suffered  himself  to  be  led  indoors 
by  the  girl  whom  he  had  never  seen  until  that  morn- 
ing; and  for  whom,  thus  far,  he  had  formed  no  af- 
fection. But  his  wistful,  deepset  dark  eyes  had  fol- 
lowed Gavin  Brice's  receding  form.  He  could  not 
believe  this  dear  new  friend  meant  to  desert  him.  As 
Brice  did  not  stop,  nor  even  look  back,  the  collie 
waxed  doubtful.  And  he  tugged  to  be  free.  Claire 
spoke  gently  to  him,  a  slight  quiver  in  her  own  voice; 
her  dark  eyes,  like  his,  fixed  upon  the  dwindling  dark 
speck  on  the  dusky  white  road. 

"No,  Bobby!"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  as  she 


56  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

petted  the  restless  head.  "He  won't  come  back.  Let's 
forget  all  about  it.  We  both  behaved  foolishly;  you 
and  I,  Bobby.  And  he — well,  let's  just  call  him  ec- 
centric; and  not  think  about  him  any  more." 

She  drew  the  reluctant  collie  into  the  house;  and 
closed  the  door.  But,  a  few  minutes  later,  when  her 
back  chanced  to  be  turned,  and  when  a  maid  came 
into  the  room  leaving  the  door  ajar,  Bobby  slipped  out. 

In  another  five  seconds  he  was  in  the  road;  casting 
about  for  Brice's  trail.  Finding  it,  he  set  off,  at  a 
hand-gallop,  nostrils  close  to  the  ground.  Having 
once  been  hit  and  bruised,  in  puppyhood,  by  a  motor 
car,  the  dog  had  a  wholesome  respect  for  such  rapid 
and  ill-smelling  vehicles.  Thus,  as  he  saw  the  lights 
and  heard  the  engine-purr  of  one  of  them,  coming 
toward  him,  down  the  road,  he  dodged  back  into  the 
wayside  hedge  until  it  passed.  Which  is  the  reason 
Milo  Standish  failed  to  see  the  dog  he  had  been  hunt- 
ing for. 

A  little  later,  Brice's  scent  became  so  distinct  that  the 
collie  could  abandon  his  nose-to-the-ground  tactics  and 
strike  across  country,  by  dead-reckoning;  guided  not 
only  by  his  nose  but  by  the  sound  of  Gavin's  steps. 
.Then,  in  an  access  of  delight,  he  burst  upon  the  plod- 
ding man. 

"Why,  Bobby!"  exclaimed  Brice,  touched  by  the 
dog's  rapture  in  having  found  him  again.  "Why, 
Bobby  Burns!  What  on  earth  made  you  follow  me? 
Don't  you  know  I'm  not  your  master?  Don't  you, 
Bobby?" 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        57 

He  was  petting  the  frisking  collie  as  he  talked.  But 
now  he  faced  about. 

"I've  got  to  take  you  back  to  her,  old  man!"  he  in- 
formed the  highly  interested  dog.  "You  belong  to 
her.  And  she'll  worry  about  you.  I'll  just  take  you 
into  the  dooryard  or  to  the  front  lawn  or  whatever  it 
is ;  and  tie  you  there ;  so  some  one  will  find  you.  I  don't 
want  to  get  my  plans  all  messed  up  by  another  talk 
with  her,  to-night.  It's  a  mean  trick  to  play  on  you; 
after  you've  taken  all  the  trouble  to  follow  me.  But 
you're  hers.  After  this  rotten  business  is  all  over, 
maybe  I'll  try  to  buy  you.  It's  worth  ninety  per  cent 
of  your  value  to  have  had  you  pick  me  out  for  your  mas- 
ter. Any  man  with  cash  enough  can  be  a  dog's  owner, 
Bobby.  But  all  the  cash  in  the  world  won't  make  him 
the  dog's  master  without  the  dog's  own  consent.  Ever 
stop  to  think  of  that,  Bobby?" 

As  he  talked,  half  incoherently,  to  the  delighted  col- 
lie, Gavin  was  retracing  his  way  over  the  mile  or  so 
he  had  just  traversed.  He  grudged  the  extra  steps. 
For  the  day  had  been  long  and  full  of  exercise.  And 
he  was  more  than  comfortably  tired.  But  he  kept  on ; 
wondering  vexedly  at  the  little  throb  of  eagerness  in 
his  heart  as  Claire  Standish's  home  at  last  bulked  dimly 
into  view  around  the  last  curve  of  the  byroad. 

Bobby  Burns  trotted  happily  beside  him;  reveling 
in  the  man's  occasional  rambling  words,  as  is  the  flat- 
tering way  collies  have  when  they  are  talked  to,  fa- 
miliarly, by  the  human  they  love.  And  so  the  two 
neared  the  house;  their  padding  footsteps  noiseless  in 
the  soft  white  dust  of  the  road. 


58  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

There  were  lights  in  several  windows.  One  strong 
ray  was  cast  full  across  the  side  lawn;  penetrating  al- 
most as  far  as  the  beginning  of  the  forest  at  the  rear. 
Toward  this  vivid  beam,  Gavin  bent  his  steps ;  fumbling 
in  his  pocket  as  he  went,  for  something  with  which 
to  tie  Bobby  to  the  nearest  tree. 

As  he  moved  forward  and  left  the  road  for  the  close- 
cropped  grass  of  the  lawn,  he  saw  a  dim  white  shadow 
advancing  obliquely  in  his  direction.  And,  for  an  in- 
stant, his  heartbeats  quickened,  ever  so  slightly.  Then, 
he  was  disgusted  with  his  own  fatuousness.  For  the 
white  form  was  double  the  size  of  Claire  StandisK 
And  he  knew  this  was  her  brother;  crossing  from  the 
garage  to  a  door  of  the  house. 

The  big  man  swung  along  with  the  easy  gait  of 
perfect  physical  strength.  And  as  the  window,  whence 
flowed  the  light-ray,  was  alongside  the  door  he  in- 
tended to  enter,  his  journey  toward  the  house  lay  in 
the  direct  path  of  the  ray. 

Brice,  in  the  darkness,  just  inside  the  gateway,  stood 
moveless  and  waited  for  him  to  traverse  the  hundred 
feet  or  so  that  remained  between  him  and  the  veranda. 
The  collie  fidgeted,  at  sight  of  the  man  in  white;  and 
began  to  growl,  inquiringly,  far  down  in  his  throat. 

Gavin  patted  Bobby  Burns  reassuringly  on  the 
head;  to  quiet  him.  He  was  of  no  mind  to  introduce 
himself  at  the  Standish  home,  a  second  time,  as  the 
returner  of  a  runaway  dog.  Wherefore,  he  sought 
to  remain  unseen;  and  to  wait  with  what  patience  he 
could  until  the  householder  should  have  gone  indoors. 

Apparently,  on  reaching  home,  Standish  had  driven 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        59 

the  car  to  the  garage  and  had  pottered  around  there 
for  some  minutes  before  starting  for  the  house.  He 
was  carrying  something  loosely  in  one  hand;  and  he 
did  not  seem  in  any  hurry. 

"My  friend,"  said  Gavin,  soundlessly,  "if  a  girl 
like  Claire  Standish  was  waiting  for  me,  beyond  that 
shaft  of  light,  I'd  make  the  trip  in  something  better 
than  no  time  at  all.  But  then — she's  not  my  sister; 
thank  the  good  Lord !" 

He  grinned  at  his  own  silly  thoughts  concerning 
the  girl  he  had  talked  to  for  so  brief  a  time.  Yet  he 
found  himself  looking  at  her  elder  brother  with  a 
certain  reluctant  friendliness,  on  her  account. 

Suddenly,  the  grin  was  wiped  from  his  face;  and 
he  was  tense  from  head  to  foot. 

Standish,  on  his  way  homeward,  was  strolling 
past  a  clump  of  dwarf  shrubbery.  And,  idly  watching 
him,  Gavin  could  have  sworn  that  one  end  of  the 
shrubbery  moved. 

Then,  he  was  no  longer  in  doubt  The  bit  of  dark- 
ness detached  itself  from  the  rest  of  the  shrubbery; 
as  Milo  lounged  past ;  and  it  sprang,  catlike,  at  the  un- 
suspecting man's  back. 

Into  the  path  of  light  it  leaped.  In  the  same  atom 
of  time,  Gavin  Brice  shouted  aloud  in  sharp  warning; 
and  dashed  forward;  the  collie  at  his  side. 

But  he  was  fifty  feet  away.  And  his  shout  served 
only  to  make  Standish  halt,  staring  about  him. 

It  was  then  that  the  creature  from  the  shrubbery 
made  his  spring.  He  struck  venomously  at  Standish, 


60  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

from  behind.  And  Gavin  could  see,  in  the  striking 
hand,  a  glitter  of  steel. 

Standish — warned  perhaps  by  sound,  perhaps  by  in- 
stinct— wheeled  half-way  around.  Thus  the  knife- 
blow  missed  its  mark  between  his  shoulder-blades.  Not 
the  blade,  but  the  fist  which  gripped  it,  smote  full  on 
Standish' s  shoulder.  The  deflected  point  merely  shore 
the  white  coat  from  neck  to  waist. 

There  was  no  scope  to  strike  again.  And  the  assail- 
ant contented  himself  with  passing  his  free  arm  gar- 
rotingly  around  Standish's  neck,  from  behind;  and 
leaping  upward,  bringing  his  knees  into  the  small  of 
the  victim's  back. 

Here  evidently  was  no  amateur  slayer.  For,  even 
as  the  knife-thrust  missed  its  mark,  he  had  resorted  to 
the  second  ruse; — and  before  Standish  could  turn 
around  far  enough  to  avert  it. 

Down  went  the  big  man,  under  the  strangle-hold 
and  knee-purchase.  With  a  crash  that  knocked  the 
breath  out  of  him  and  dazed  him,  he  landed  on  his 
back;  his  head  smiting  the  sward  with  a  resounding 
thwack. 

His  adversary,  once  more,  wasted  not  a  jot  of  time. 
As  Standish  struck  ground,  the  man  was  upon  him; 
knife  again  aloft;  poised  above  the  helpless  Milo's 
throat. 

And  it  was  then  that  Gavin  Brice's  flying  feet 
brought  him  to  the  scene. 

As  he  ran  he  had  heard  a  door  open.  And  he  knew 
his  warning  shout  had  reached  the  ears  of  some  one  in 
the  house, — perhaps  of  Claire.  But  he  had  no  time 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        61 

nor  thought  for  anything,  just  then;  except  the  stark 
need  of  reaching  Milo  Standish  before  the  knife  could 
strike. 

He  launched  himself,  after  the  fashion  of  a  football 
tackle,  straight  for  the  descending  arm.  And,  for  a 
few  seconds  all  three  men  rolled  and  wallowed  and 
fought  in  a  jumble  of  flying  arms  and  legs  and 
heads. 

Brice  had  been  lucky  enough  or  dextrous  enough  to 
catch  the  knife-wielder's  wrist  and  to  wrench  it  far  to 
one  side,  as  it  whizzed  downward.  With  his  other  hand 
he  had  groped  for  the  slayer's  throat. 

Then,  he  found  himself  attacked  with  a  maniac  fury 
by  the  man  whose  murderous  purpose  he  had  thwarted. 
Still  gripping  the  knife-wrist,  he  was  sore  put  to  it  to 
fend  off  an  avalanche  of  blows  from  the  other  arm  and 
of  kicks  from  both  of  the  assailant's  deftly  plied 
feet. 

Nor  was  his  task  made  the  easier  by  the  fact  that 
Milo  Standish  had  recovered  from  the  momentary 
daze ;  and  was  slugging  impartially  at  both  the  men  who 
rolled  and  tossed  on  top  of  him. 

This,  for  a  short  but  excessively  busy  space  of  mo- 
ments. Then,  wriggling  free  of  Milo's  impeding  and 
struggling  bulk,  Brice  gained  the  throat-hold  he  sought. 
Still  holding  to  the  ground  the  wrist  of  the  knife- 
hand,  he  dug  his  supple  fingers  deep  into  the  man's 
throat ;  disregarding  such  blows  and  kicks  as  he  could 
not  ward  off. 

There  was  science  in  his  ferocious  onslaught.  And 
his  skilled  fingers  had  found  the  windpipe  and  the 


62  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

carotid  artery  as  well.  With  such  force  as  Brice  was 
able  to  exert,  the  other's  breath  was  shut  off;  while 
he  was  all  but  paralyzed  by  the  digging  pressure 
into  his  carotid. 

Such  a  grip  is  well  understood  by  Japanese  athletes ; 
though  its  possibilities  and  method  are  unknown  to  the 
average  Occidental.  Rightly  applied,  it  is  irresistible. 
Carried  to  its  conclusion,  it  spells  sudden  and  agonizing 
death  to  its  victim. 

And  Gavin  Brice  was  carrying  it  to  the  conclusion, 
with  all  the  sinew  and  science  of  his  trained  arms. 

The  knifer's  strength  was  gorilla-like.  But  that 
strength,  at  every  second,  was  rendered  more  and  more 
futile.  The  man  must  have  realized  it.  For,  all  at 
once,  he  ceased  his  battery  of  kicks  and  blows;  and 
struggled  frantically  to  tear  free. 

Each  plunging  motion  merely  intensified  the  pain 
and  power  of  the  relentless  throat-grip  that  pinioned 
him.  And,  strangling  and  panic-struck,  he  became 
wilder  in  his  fruitless  efforts  to  wrench  loose.  Then, 
deprived  of  breath  and  with  his  nerve-centers  shaken, 
he  lost  the  power  to  strive. 

It  was  the  time  for  which  Gavin  had  waited.  With 
perfect  ease,  now,  he  twisted  the  knife  from  the  failing 
grasp;  and,  with  his  left  hand,  he  reenforced  the  throat- 
grip  of  his  right.  As  he  did  so,  he  got  his  legs  under 
him  and  arose;  dragging  upward  with  him  the  all  but 
senseless  body  of  his  garroted  foe. 

It  had  been  a  pretty  bit  of  work,  from  the  start ;  and 
one  upon  which  his  monkey-faced  Japanese  jiu-jitsu 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  DARK        63 

instructor  would  have  lavished  a  grunt  of  ap- 
proval. 

He  had  conquered  an  armed  and  muscular  enemy  by 
his  knowledge  of  anatomy  and  by  applying  the  simple 
grip  he  had  learned.  And  now,  the  heaving  half- 
dead  murderer  was  at  his  mercy. 

Gavin  swung  the  feebly  twitching  body  out,  more 
fully  into  the  streak  of  light  from  the  house;  noting, 
subconsciously  that  the  light  ray  was  twice  as  broad 
as  before,  by  reason  of  the  door's  standing  open. 

But,  before  he  could  concentrate  his  gaze  on  the 
man  he  held,  he  saw  several  million  other  things.  And 
all  the  several  million  were  multi-hued  stars  and  burst- 
ing bombs. 

The  entire  universe  seemed  to  have  exploded  and  to 
have  chosen  the  inside  of  his  brain  as  the  site  for  such 
annoying  pyrotechnics.  Dully  he  was  aware  that  his 
hands  were  loosening  their  death-grip  and  that  his  arms 
were  falling  to  his  sides.  Also,  that  his  knees  had 
turned  to  hot  tallow  and  were  crumbling,  under  him. 

None  of  these  amazing  phenomena  struck  him  as  at 
all  interesting.  Indeed,  nothing  struck  him  as  worth 
noting.  Not  even  the  display  of  myriad  shooting  stars. 
It  all  seemed  quite  natural;  and  it  all  lasted  for  the 
merest  breath  of  time. 

Through  the  universe  of  varicolored  lights  and  ex- 
plosions, he  was  aware  of  a  woman's  cry.  And,  some- 
how, this  pierced  the  mist  of  his  senses;  and  found 
its  way  to  his  heart.  But  only  for  an  instant. 

Then,  instead  of  tumbling  to  earth,  he  felt  himself 


64  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

sinking  down,  uncountable  miles,  through  a  cool  dark- 
ness. The  dark  was  comforting,  after  all  that  both- 
ersome display  of  lights. 

And,  while  he  was  still  falling,  he  drifted  into  a  dead 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  MOCKING  BIRD 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  MOCKING  BIRD 

AFTER  centuries  of  unconsciousness,  Gavin  Brice 
began  to  return,  bit  by  bit,  to  his  senses. 

The  first  thing  he  knew  was  that  the  myriad  shoot- 
ing stars  in  his  head  had  changed  somehow  into  a 
myriad  shooting  pains.  He  was  in  torment.  And  he 
was  deathly  sick. 

His  trained  brain  forced  itself  to  a  semblance  of 
sanity;  and  he  found  himself  piecing  together  vaguely 
the  things  that  had  happened  to  him.  He  could  re- 
member seeing  Milo  Standish  strolling  toward  the 
veranda  in  the  shaft  of  light  from  the  window; — 
then  the  black  figure  which  detached  itself  from  the 
shrubbery  and  sprang  on  the  unheeding  man ; — and  his 
own  attempt  to  turn  aside  the  arm  that  wielded  the 
knife. 

But  everything  else  was  a  blank. 

Meanwhile,  the  countless  shooting  pains  were  merg- 
ing into  one  intolerable  ache.  Brice  had  no  desire  to 
stir  or  even  to  open  his  eyes.  The  very  thought  of 
motion  was  abhorrent.  The  mere  effort  at  thinking 
was  painful.  So  he  lay  still. 

Presently,  he  was  aware  of  something  that  touched 
his  head.  And  he  wondered  why  the  touch  did  not 

67 


68  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

add  to  his  hurt,  but  was  soothing.  Even  a  finger's 
weight  might  have  been  expected  to  jar  his  battered 
skull. 

But  there  was  no  jar  to  this  touch.  Rather  was  it 
cooling  and  of  infinite  comfort.  And  now  he  realized 
that  it  had  been  continuing  for  some  time. 

Again  he  roused  his  rebellious  brain  to  action;  and 
knew  at  last  what  the  soothing  touch  must  be.  Some 
one  was  bathing  his  forehead  with  cool  water.  Some 
one  with  a  lightly  magnetic  touch.  Some  one  whose 
fingers  held  healing  in  their  soft  tips. 

And,  just  above  him,  he  could  hear  quick,  light 
breathing;  breathing  that  was  almost  a  sob.  His  un- 
seen nurse  was  taking  her  job  not  only  seriously  but 
compassionately.  That  was  evident.  It  did  not  jibe 
with  Gavin's  slight  experience  with  trained  nurses. 
kWherefore,  it  puzzled  him. 

But,  perplexity  seemed  to  hurt  his  brain  as  much 
as  did  the  effort  to  piece  together  the  shattered  frag- 
ments of  memory.  So  he  forbore  to  follow  that  train 
of  thought.  And,  again,  he  strove  to  banish  mentality 
and  to  sink  back  into  the  merciful  senselessness  from 
which  youth  and  an  iron-and-whalebone  constitution 
were  fighting  to  rouse  him. 

But,  do  what  he  would  to  prevent  it,  consciousness 
was  creeping  more  and  more  in  upon  him.  For,  now, 
he  could  not  only  follow  the  motions  of  the  wondrously 
gentle  hand  on  his  forehead,  but  he  could  tell  that  his 
head  was  not  on  the  ground.  Instead,  it  was  resting 
on  something  warm;  and  it  was  elevated  some  inches 
above  the  grass.  He  recalled  a  war-chromo  of  a 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  69 

wounded  soldier  whose  head  rested  on  the  knee  of  a 
Red  Cross  nurse; — a  nurse  who  sat  on  the  furrowed 
earth  of  a  five-color  battlefield,  where  all  real  life 
army  regulations  forbade  her  to  set  foot 

Was  he  that  soldier?  Was  he  still  in  the  hell  of  the 
Flanders  trenches?  He  had  thought  the  war  was 
over;  and  that  he  was  back  in  America; — in  America 
and  on  his  way  South  on  some  odd  and  perilous  busi- 
ness whose  nature  he  could  not  now  recall. 

Another  few  seconds  of  mental  wandering;  and  he 
was  himself  again;  his  mind  functioning  more  and 
more  clearly.  With  returning  strength  of  brain  came 
curiosity.  Where  was  he?  How  did  he  chance  to  be 
lying  here;  his  head  in  some  sobbing  woman's  lap? 
It  didn't  make  sense! 

With  instinctive  caution,  he  parted  his  eyelids,  ever 
so  slightly;  and  sought  to  peer  upward  through  his 
thick  lashes.  The  effort  was  painful ;  but  less  so  than 
he  had  feared.  Already,  through  natural  buoyancy 
or  else  by  reason  of  the  unseen  nurse's  ministra- 
tions, the  throbbing  ache  was  becoming  almost  bearable. 

At  first,  his  dazed  eyes  could  make  out  nothing. 
Then  he  could  see,  through  his  lashes,  the  velvety 
dark  blue  of  the  night  sky  and  the  big  white  Southern 
stars  shining  through  a  soft  cloud  Inconsequentially, 
his  vagrant  mind  recalled  that,  below  Miami,  the 
Southern  Cross  is  smudgily  visible  on  the  horizon, 
somewhere  around  two  in  the  morning.  And  he  won- 
dered if  he  could  descry  it,  if  that  luminous  cloud 
were  not  in  the  way. 

Then,  he  knew  it  was  not  a  cloud  which  shimmered  , 


70  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

between  his  eyes  and  the  stars.  It  was  a  woman's 
filmy  hair. 

And  the  woman  was  bending  down  above  him,  as 
he  lay  with  his  head  on  her  knee.  She  was  bending 
down;  sobbing  softly  to  herself;  and  bathing  his 
aching  head  with  water  from  a  bowl  at  her  side. 

He  was  minded  to  rouse  himself  and  speak;  or  at 
least  to  get  a  less  elusive  look  at  her  shadowed  face; 
when  running  footsteps  sounded  from  somewhere. 
And  again  by  instinct,  Brice  shut  his  eyes  and  lay 
moveless. 

The  footsteps  were  coming  nearer.  They  were 
springy  and  rhythmic;  the  footsteps  of  a  powerful 
man. 

Then  came  a  panting  voice  out  of  the  darkness : 

"Oh,  there  you  are!"  it  exclaimed.  "He  got  away. 
Got  away,  clean.  I  reached  the  head  of  the  path,  not 
ten  feet  behind  him.  But,  in  there,  it's  so  black  I 
couldn't  see  anything  ahead  of  me.  And  I  had  no 
light;  worse  luck!  So  he " 

A  deep-throated  growl  interrupted  him; — a  growl 
so  fierce  and  menacing  that  Gavin  once  more  half- 
parted  his  eyes,  in  sudden  curiosity. 

From  beside  his  feet,  Bobby  Burns  was  rising.  The 
collie  had  crouched  there,  evidently,  with  some  idea 
of  guarding  Brice  from  further  harm.  He  did  not 
seem  to  have  resented  the  woman's  ministrations.  But 
he  was  of  no  mind  to  let  this  man  come  any  closer  to 
his  stricken  idol. 

Brice  was  sore  tempted  to  reach  out  his  hand  and 
give  the  collie  a  reassuring  -pat  and  to  thank  him  for 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  71 

the  loyal  guard  he  had  been  keeping.  Now,  through 
the  mists  of  memory,  he  recalled  snarls  and  the  bruis- 
ing contact  of  a  furry  body,  during  the  battle  he  so 
dimly  remembered;  and  that  once  his  foe  had  cried 
out,  as  though  at  the  impact  of  rending  teeth. 

Yes,  Bobby  Burns,  presumably,  had  learned  a  lesson 
since  his  interested  but  impersonal  surveillance  of 
Gavin's  bout  with  the  beach  comber,  earlier  in  the 
afternoon.  He  had  begun  to  learn  that  when  grown 
men  come  to  a  clinch,  it  is  not  mere  play. 

And  Brice  wanted  to  praise  the  gallant  young  dog 
for  coming  to  his  help.  But,  as  before,  instinct  and 
professional  experience  bade  him  continue  to  "play 
dead." 

"What's  that?"  he  heard  the  man  demand,  in  sur- 
prise ;  as  Bobby  snarled  again  and  stood  threateningly 
between  him  and  the  prostrate  Brice. 

The  woman  answered.  And  at  the  first  sound  of 
her  voice,  full  memory  rushed  back  on  Gavin  in  a 
flood.  He  knew  where  he  was;  and  who  was  holding 
his  head  on  her  knee.  The  knowledge  thrilled  him, 
unaccountably.  With  mighty  effort  he  held  to  his 
pose  of  inert  senselessness. 

"That's  Bobby  Burns,"  he  heard  Claire  saying  in 
reply  to  her  brother's  first  question.  "He's  guarding 
Mr.  Brice.  When  I  ran  out  here  with  the  water  and 
the  cloths,  I  found  him  standing  above  him.  But— oh, 
Milo " 

"Brice?"  snapped  Milo  Standish,  glowering  on  the 
fallen  man  his  sister  was  brooding  over.  "Brice? 
Who's  Brice?  D'you  mean  that  chap?  Lucky  I  got 


72  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

him,  even  if  the  other  one  did  give  me  the  slip !  Let 
me  take  a  look  at  him.  If  I  hadn't  happened  to  be 
bringing  the  monkey-wrench  from  the  garage  to  fix 
that  shelf-bolt  in  the  study,  I'd  never  have  been  able 
to  get  even  one  of  them.  I  yanked  free  of  them,  while 
they  were  trying  to  down  me ;  and  I  let  this  one  have  it 
with  the  wrench.  Before  I  could  land  on  the 
other " 

"Mih!"  she  broke  in,  after  several  vain  attempts 
to  still  his  vainglorious  recital.  "Milo!  You've  in- 
jured— maybe  you've  killed — the  man  who  saved  you 
from  being  stabbed  to  death!  Yet  you " 

"What  are  you  talking  about  ?"  he  demanded,  bewil- 
dered. "These  two  men  set  on  me  in  the  dark,  as  I 
was  coming  from " 

"This  man,  here — Mr.  Brice — "  she  flamed,  "has 
saved  you  from  being  killed.  Oh,  go  and  telephone  for 
a  doctor!  Quickly!  And  send  one  of  the  maids  out 
here  with  my  smelling  salts.  He " 

"Thanks!"  returned  her  brother,  making  no  move 
to  obey.  "But  when  I  phone,  it'll  be  to  the  police. 
Not  to  a  doctor.  I  don't  know  what  notion  you  may 
have  gotten  of  this  fracas.  But " 

"Oh,  we're  wasting  such  precious  time!"  she  cried. 
"Listen!  I  heard  a  shout.  I  was  on  my  way  to  the 
veranda  to  see  what  was  detaining  you.  For  I  had 
heard  your  car  come  in,  quite  a  while  before  that, 
I  opened  the  door.  And  I  was  just  in  time  to  see 
some  man  spring  on  you,  with  a  knife  in  his  hand. 
Then  Mr.  Brice  came  running  from  the  gateway;  just 
as  the  man  threw  you  down  and  lifted  his  knife  to 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  73 

stab  you.  Mr.  Brice  dragged  him  away  from  you 
and  throttled  him;  and  knocked  the  knife  out  of  his 
hand.  I  could  see  it  ever  so  plainly.  For  it  was 
all  in  that  big  patch  of  light.  Just  like  a  scene  on  a 
stage.  Then,  Mr.  Brice  got  to  his  feet,  and  swung 
the  man  to  one  side,  by  the  throat.  And  as  he  did, 
you  jumped  up,  too ;  and  hit  him  on  the  head  with  that 
miserable  wrench.  As  he  fell,  I  could  see  the  other 
man  stagger  off  toward  the  path.  He  was  so  weak, 
at  first,  he  could  hardly  move.  I  cried  out  to  you, 
but  you  were  so  busy  glaring  down  at  the  man  who 
had  saved  your  life  that  you  didn't  think  to  start  after 
the  other  one  till  he  had  gotten  strength  enough  to 
escape  from  you.  Then  I  went  for  water  to " 

"Good  Lord!"  groaned  Standish,  agape.  "You're 
— you're  sure — dead  sure  you're  right?" 

"Sure?"  she  echoed,  indignantly.  "Of  course  I'm 
sure.  I " 

"Hold  that  measly  dog's  collar,"  he  broke  in.  "So ! 
I  don't  care  to  be  bitten.  I've  had  my  share  of  knocka- 
bout stuff,  for  one  day." 

Stooping,  he  picked  up  Brice  as  easily  as  though 
Gavin  had  been  a  baby;  and  with  rough  tenderness 
carried  him  toward  the  house. 

"There  are  a  lot  of  things,  about  all  this,  that  I 
don't  understand,"  he  continued,  irritably,  as  Claire 
and  the  still-growling  but  tight-held  Bobby  followed 
him  to  the  veranda.  "For  instance,  how  that  dog 
happens  to  be  here  and  trying  to  protect  a  total  stranger. 
For,  Bobby  only  got  to  Miami,  from  New  Jersey,  by 
this  morning's  train.  He  can't  possibly  know  this  man. 


74  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

That's  one  thing.  Another  is,  how  this — Brice,  did  you 
say  his  name  is? — happened  to  be  Johnny-on-the-spot 
when  the  other  chap  tried  to  knife  me.  And  how  you 
happen  to  know  him  by  name.  He's  dressed  more  like  a 
day-laborer  than  like  any  one  you'd  be  likely  to  meet. 
.  .  .  But  all  that  can  wait.  The  thing  now  is  to  find 
how  badly  he's  hurt." 

They  had  reached  the  veranda ;  and  Standish  carried 
his  burden  through  an  open  doorway,  which  was 
blocked  by  a  knot  of  excitedly  inquisitive  servants. 
A  sharp  word  from  Standish  sent  them  whisperingly 
back  to  the  kitchen  regions.  Milo  laid  Brice  down  on 
a  wicker  couch  in  the  broad,  flagged  hallway;  and  ran 
his  fingers  over  the  bruised  head. 

Gavin  could  hear  Claire,  in  a  nearby  room,  telephon- 
ing. 

"Hold  on,  there !"  called  Standish,  as  his  sister  gave 
the  operator  a  number.  "Wait!  As  well  as  I  can 
tell,  at  a  glance,  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  fracture. 
He's  just  knocked  out.  That's  all.  A  mild  concussion 
of  the  brain,  I  should  think.  Don't  call  a  doctor ;  un- 
less it  turns  out  to  be  more  serious.  It's  bad  enough 
for  the  servants  to  be  all  stirred  up  like  this,  and  to 
blab — as  they're  certain  to — without  letting  a  doctor 
in  on  it,  too.  The  less  talk  we  cause,  the  better." 

Reluctantly,  Claire  came  away  from  the  telephone 
and  approached  the  couch. 

"You're  sure?"  she  asked,  in  doubt. 

"I've  had  some  experience  with  this  sort  of  thing, 
on  the  other  side,"  he  answered.  "The  man  will  come 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  75 

to  himself  in  another  few  minutes.  I've  loosened  his 
collar  and  belt  and  shoelaces.  He " 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  could  have  tried  to  kill 
you?"  she  asked,  shuddering. 

"Yes !"  he  made  sullen  answer.  "And  so  have  you. 
Let  it  go  at  that." 

"You — you  think  it  was  one  of ?" 

"Hush!"  he  ordered,  uneasily.  "This  fellow  may 
not  be  quite  as  unconscious  as  he  looks.  Sometimes, 
people  get  their  hearing  back,  before  they  open  their 
eyes.  Come  into  the  library,  a  minute.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you.  Oh,  don't  look  like  that,  about  leaving  him 
alone!  He'll  be  all  right,  I  tell  you!  His  pulse  is 
coming  back,  strong.  Come  in  here." 

He  laid  one  big  arm  on  her  slight  shoulder  and  led 
her,  half-forcibly,  into  the  adjoining  room.  Thence, 
Gavin  could  hear  the  rumble  of  his  deep  voice.  But 
he  could  catch  no  word  the  man  said;  though  once  he 
heard  Claire  speak  in  vehement  excitement; — and 
could  hear  Milo's  harsh  interruption  and  his  command 
that  she  lower  her  voice. 

Presently,  the  two  came  back  into  the  hall.  As 
Standish  neared  the  couch,  Gavin  Brice  opened  his 
eyes,  with  considerable  effort;  and  blinked  dazedly 
up  at  the  gigantic  figure  in  the  torn  and  muddy  white 
silk  suit. 

Then  Brice's  blinking  gaze  drifted  to  Claire ;  as  she 
stood,  pale  and  big-eyed,  above  him.  He  essayed  a 
feeble  smile  of  recognition;  and  let  his  glance  wander 
in  well-acted  amazement  about  the  high-ceiled  hallway. 

"Feeling  better?"  queried  Milo.    "Here,  drink  this." 


76  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

Gavin  essayed  to  speak.  His  pose  was  not  wholly 
assumed.  For  his  head  still  swam  and  was  intolerably 
painful. 

He  sipped  at  the  brandy  which  Standish  held  to  his 
sagging  lips.  And,  glancing  toward  Claire,  he  smiled; 
a  somewhat  wavery  and  wan  smile. 

"Don't  try  to  say  anything!"  she  begged.  "Wait 
till  you  are  feeling  better." 

"I'm — I'm  all  right,"  he  assured  her,  albeit  rather 
shakily;  his  voice  seeming  to  come  from  a  distance. 
"I  got  a  rap  over  the  head.  And  it  put  me  out,  for  a 
while.  But — I'm  collecting  the  pieces.  I'll  be  as  good 
as — as  new,  in  a  few  minutes." 

The  fragments  of  dialogue  between  brother  and  sis- 
ter had  supplemented  his  returning  memory.  Mentally, 
he  was  himself  again;  keen,  secretive,  alert;  every  bit 
of  him  warily  on  guard.  But  he  cursed  the  fact  that 
Standish  had  drawn  Claire  into  the  library,  out  of 
earshot,  when  he  spoke  of  the  man  who  had  attacked 
him. 

Then,  with  a  queer  revulsion  of  feeling,  he  cursed 
himself  for  an  eavesdropper;  and  was  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing listened  at  all.  For  the  first  time,  he  began  to  hate 
the  errand  that  had  brought  him  to  Florida. 

Bobby  Burns  caused  a  mild  diversion,  as  Brice's 
voice  trailed  away.  At  Gavin's  first  word,  the  collie 
sprang  from  his  self-appointed  guard-post  at  the  foot 
of  the  couch ;  and  came  dancing  up  to  the  convalescent 
man;  thrusting  his  cold  nose  rapturously  against 
Brice's  face,  trying  to  lick  his  cheek;  whimpering  in 
joy  at  his  idol's  recovery. 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  77 

With  much  effort  Gavin  managed  to  stroke  the 
wrigglingly  active  head ;  and  to  say  a  reassuring  word 
to  his  worshiper.  Then,  glancing  again  at  Claire, 
he  explained : 

"I'd  done  about  a  mile  toward  Miami  when  he 
overtook  me.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  send 
him  home.  So  I  brought  him.  Just  as  we  got  to  the 
gate,  here " 

"I  know,"  intervened  Claire,  eager  to  spare  him  the 
effort  of  speech.  "I  saw.  It  was  splendid  of  you, 
Mr.  Brice!  My  brother  and  I  are  in  your  debt  for 
more  than  we  can  ever  hope  to  pay." 

"Nonsense !"  he  protested.  "I  made  a  botch  of  the 
whole  thing.  I  ought " 

"No,"  denied  Milo.  "It  was  I  who  made  a  botch 
of  it.  I  owe  you  not  only  my  life  but  an  apology. 
It  was  my  blow,  not  the  other  man's,  that  knocked 
you  out.  I  misunderstood,  and " 

"That's  all  right !"  declared  Gavin.    "In  the  dim  light 

it's  a  miracle  we  didn't  all  of  us  slug  the  wrong  men. 
j » 

He  stopped.  Claire  had  been  working  over  some- 
thing on  a  table  behind  him.  Now  she  came  forward 
with  a  cold  compress  for  his  abraded  scalp.  Skillfully, 
she  applied  it;  her  dainty  fingers  wondrously  deft. 

"Red  Cross?"  asked  Brice,  as  she  worked. 

"Just  a  six-month  nursing  course,  during  the  war," 
she  said,  modestly;  adding:  "I  didn't  get  across." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Gavin.  "I  mean,  for  the  poor 
chaps  who  might  have  profited  by  such  clever  bandag- 
ing. .  .  .  Yes,  that's  a  very  dull  and  heavy  com- 


78  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

pliment.  I  know  it.  But — there's  a  lot  of  gratitude 
behind  it.  You've  made  this  throbbing  old  head  of 
mine  feel  ever  so  much  better,  Miss  Standish." 

Milo  was  looking  bewilderedly  from  one  to  the 
other;  as  if  trying  to  understand  how  this  ill-clad  man 
chanced  to  be  on  such  terms  of  acquaintanceship  with 
his  fastidious  little  sister.  Claire  read  his  look  of  in- 
quiry; and  said: 

"Mr.  Brice  found  Bobby  Burns,  this  afternoon,  and 
brought  him  home  to  me.  It  was  nice  of  him,  wasn't 
it?  For  it  took  him  ever  so  far  out  of  his  way." 

Gavin  noted  that  she  made  no  mention  of  his  having 
come  to  the  Standish  home  by  way  of  the  hidden 
path.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  gave  him  a  glance  of 
covert  appeal ;  as  though  beseeching  him  not  to  mention 
it.  He  nodded,  ever  so  slightly;  and  took  up  the 
narrative,  as  she  paused  for  words. 

"I  saw  Miss  Standish  and  yourself,  at  Miami,  this 
morning,"  said  he,  "and  the  collie,  here,  on  the  back  seat 
of  your  car.  Then,  this  afternoon,  as  I  was  walking 
out  in  this  direction,  I  saw  the  dog  again.  I  recognized 
him ;  and  I  guessed  he  had  strayed.  So  he  and  I  made 
friends.  And  as  we  were  strolling  along  together, 
we  met  Miss  Standish.  At  least,  /  met  her.  Bobby 
met  a  prematurely  gray  Persian  cat,  with  the  dreamy 
Bagdad  name  of  'Simon  Cameron.'  By  the  time  the 
dog  and  cat  could  be  sorted  out  from  each  other " 

"Oh,  I  see !"  laughed  Milo.    "And  I  don't  envy  you 

the  job  of  sorting  them.  It  was  mighty  kind  of  you 
j. »» 

He  broke  off  and  added,  with  a  tinge  of  anxiety: 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  79 

"You  say  you  happened  to  be  walking  near  here. 
Are  you  a  neighbor  of  ours?" 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Gavin,  with  almost  exaggerated 
simplicity.  "But  I  was  hoping  to  be.  You  see  I  was 
out  looking  for  a  job  in  this  neighborhood." 

"A  job?"  repeated  Milo;  then,  suspiciously:  "Why 
in  this  neighborhood,  rather  than  any  other?  You  say 
you  were  at  Miami " 

"Because  this  chanced  to  be  the  neighborhood  I  was 
wandering  in,"  replied  Gavin.  "As  I  explained  to  Miss 
Standish,  I'd  rather  do  some  kind  of  outdoor  work. 
Preferably  farm  work.  That's  why  I  left  Miami. 
There  seemed  to  be  lots  of  farms  and  groves,  here- 
abouts." 

"Yet  you  were  on  your  way  back  toward  Miami, 
when  Bobby  overtook  you?  Rather  a  long  walk, 
for " 

"A  long  walk,"  gravely  agreed  Brice.  "But  safer 
sleeping  quarters  when  one  gets  there.  Up  North,  one 
can  take  a  chance,  and  sleep  in  the  open;  almost  any- 
where except  on  a  yellow- jacket's  nest.  Down  here, 
I've  heard,  rattlesnakes  are  apt  to  stray  in  upon  one's 
slumbers.  Out  in  the  country,  at  least.  There  aren't 
any  rattlesnakes  in  the  Royal  Palm's  gardens.  Besides, 
there's  music;  and  there's  the  fragrance  of  night 
jasmine.  Altogether,  it's  worth  the  difference  of  ten 
or  twelve  miles  of  tramping." 

"You're  staying  at  the  Royal  Palm,  then?" 

"New  it,"  corrected  Brice.  "To  be  exact,  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  its  big  gardens.  The  turf  is  soft 


80  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

and  springy.  The  solitude  is  perfect,  too— unless 
some  night-watchman  gets  too  vigilant." 

He  spoke  lightly,  even  airily;  through  his  pain  and 
weakness.  But,  as  before,  his  every  faculty  was  on 
guard.  A  born  and  trained  expert  in  reading  human 
nature,  he  felt  this  giant  somehow  suspected  him  and 
was  trying  to  trap  him  in  an  inaccuracy.  Wherefore, 
he  fenced,  verbally ;  calmly  confident  he  could  outpoint 
his  clumsier  antagonist. 

"You  don't  look  like  the  kind  of  man  who  need 
sleep  out  of  doors,"  replied  Standish,  speaking  slowly, 
as  one  who  chooses  his  every  word  with  care ;  and  with 
his  cold  blue  eyes  unobtrusively  scanning  Gavin's  bat- 
tered face.  "That's  the  bedroom  for  bums.  You 
aren't  a  bum.  Even  if  your  manner,  and  the  way  you 
fought  out  yonder,  didn't  prove  that.  A  bum  doesn't 
walk  all  this  way  and  back,  on  a  hot  day ; — unless  for 
a  handout.  And  you " 

"But  a  handout  is  just  what  I  asked  for,"  Gavin 
caught  him  up.  "When  I  brought  Bobby  Burns  back 
I  traded  on  the  trifling  little  service  by  asking  Miss 
Standish  if  I  could  get  a  job  here.  It  was  impertinent 
of  me,  I  know.  And  I  was  sorry  as  soon  as  I'd  done 
it.  But  she  told  me,  in  effect,  that  you  were  'firing,  not 
hiring.'  So  I 

"Why  did  you  want  a  job  with  me?"  insisted 
Standish.  "Rather  than  with  any  of  a  dozen  farmers 
or  country-house  people  along  here?" 

And,  this  time,  any  fool  could  have  read  the  stark 
suspicion  in  his  tone  and  in  the  hard  blue  eyes. 

"For  several  reasons,"  said  Brice,  coolly.     "In  the 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  81 

first  place,  I  had  brought  home  your  dog.  In  the 
second,  I  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  as  he  had  to  me; 
and  it  would  be  pleasant  working  at  a  place  where  I 
could  be  with  such  a  chum.  In  the  third  place,  Miss 
Standish  was  kind  enough  to  say  pretty  much  the  same 
things  about  me  that  you've  just  said.  She  knew  I 
wasn't  a  tramp,  who  might  be  expected  to  decamp  with 
the  lawn-mower  or  the  spoons.  Another  landowner 
might  not  have  been  so  complimentary;  when  I  ap- 
plied for  work  and  had  no  references.  In  the  fourth, 
you  seem  to  have  a  larger  and  more  pretentious  place 
here  than  most  of  your  near  neighbors.  I — I  can't 
think  of  any  better  reasons,  just  now." 

"H'm!"  mused  Standish,  frowning  down  on  the  re- 
cumbent man,  and  then  looking  across  in  perplexity  at 
Claire. 

What  he  read  in  the  girl's  eyes  seemed  to  shame 
him,  just  a  little.  For,  as  he  turned  back  to  Gavin, 
there  was  an  apologetic  aspect  on  his  bearded  face. 
Brice  decided  to  force  the  playing.  Before  his  host 
could  speak  or  Claire  could  interfere,  he  rose  to  a 
sitting  position ;  with  some  effort  and  more  pain ;  and, 
clutching  the  head  of  the  couch,  lurched  to  his  feet. 

"No,  no!"  called  Claire,  running  forward  to  sup- 
port him  as  he  swayed  a  bit.  "Don't  try  to  stand !  Lie 
down  again !  You're  as  white  as  a  ghost." 

But  Gavin  drew  courteously  away  from  her  sup- 
porting arm  and  faced  Milo. 

"I  can  only  thank  you,"  said  he,  "for  patching  me 
up  so  well.  I'm  a  lot  better,  now.  And  I've  a  long 
way  to  go.  So,  I'll  be  starting.  Thanks,  again,  both 


82  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

of  you.    I'm  sorry  to  have  put  you  to  so  much  bother." 

He  reeled,  cleverly,  caught  at  the  couch-head  again ; 
and  took  an  uncertain  step  toward  the  door.  But  now, 
not  only  Claire  but  her  brother  barred  his  way. 

"Don't  be  an  idiot!"  stormed  Milo.  "Why,  man, 
you  couldn't  walk  a  hundred  yards,  with  that  groggy 
head  on  your  shoulders !  You're  all  beaten  up. 
You'll  be  lucky  if  you're  on  your  feet  in  another  three 
days.  What  sort  of  cur  do  you  think  I  am,  to  let  you 
go  like  this;  after  all  you've  done  for  me,  to-night? 
You'll  stay.with  us  till  to-morrow,  anyhow.  And  then, 
if  you  still  insist  on  going  back  to  Miami,  I'll  take  you 
there  in  the  car.  But  you're  not  going  a  step  from 
here,  to-night.  I " 

Gavin  strove  to  mutter  a  word  of  disclaimer ;  to  take 
another  wavering  stride  toward  the  front  door.  But 
his  knees  gave  away  under  him.  .He  swayed  forward ; 
and  must  have  fallen,  had  not  Milo  Standish  caught 
him. 

"Here,"  Milo  bade  his  sister,  as  he  laid  the  limp 
body  back  on  the  couch.  "Go  and  tell  the  maids  to 
get  the  gray  room  ready  as  quickly  as  possible.  I'll 
carry  him  up  there.  It  was  rotten  of  me  to  go  on 
catechizing  him,  like  that,  and  letting  him  see  he  was 
unwelcome.  But  for  him,  I'd  be " 

"Yes,"  answered  Claire,  over  her  shoulder,  as  she 
hurried  on  her  errand.  "It  was  'rotten.'  And  more 
than  that.  I  kept  trying  to  signal  you  to  stop.  You'll 
— you'll  give  him  work,  here,  won't  you,  please?" 

"We'll  talk  about  that,  afterward,"  he  said,  un- 
graciously. "I  suppose  it's  the  only  thing  a  white  man 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  83 

can  do,  after  the  chap  risked  his  life  for  me,  to-night. 
But  I'd  rather  give  him  ten  times  his  wages-money  to 
get  out  and  keep  out." 

"Thanks,  neighbor!"  said  Brice,  to  himself;  from 
the  depths  of  his  stage-faint.  "I've  no  doubt  you 
would.  But  the  cards  are  running  the  other  way." 

Again,  his  eyes  apparently  shut,  he  watched  through 
slitted  lids  the  progress  of  Claire,  as  she  passed  out 
of  the  hall,  toward  the  kitchen  ^  quarters.  She  was 
leading  the  reluctant  Bobby  Burns  away,  by  the  collar. 
Standish  was  just  behind  her ;  and  had  his  back  turned 
to  Gavin.  But  he  glanced  at  him,  suddenly,  over  his 
shoulder;  and  then  strode  swiftly  forward  to  close  the 
door  which  Claire  had  left  open  behind  her  on  her 
way  to  the  kitchen  wing  of  the  house. 

Something  in  the  big  man's  action  aroused  in  Brice 
the  mystic  sixth  sense  he  had  been  at  much  pains  to 
develop; — a  sense  which  often  enabled  him  to  guess 
instinctively  at  an  opponent's  next  probable  move. 

As  Milo  took  his  first  step  toward  the  open  door, 
Brice  went  into  action. 

Both  hands  slipped  into  his  pockets;  and  out  again. 
As  he  withdrew  them,  one  hand  held  his  battered  but 
patently  solid  gold  watch.  The  other  gripped  his  roll 
of  bills  and  as  much  of  his  small  change  as  he  had 
been  able  to  scoop  up  in  one  rapid  grab. 

On  the  stand  at  the  head  of  the  couch  reposed  a  fat 
tobacco  jar  and  pipes.  The  jar  was  more  than  half 
full.  Into  it,  Gavin  Brice  dumped  his  valuables;  and 
with  a  clawing  motion,  scraped  a  handful  of  loose  to- 


84 

bacco  over  them.  Then  he  returned  to  his  former 
inertly  supine  posture. 

The  whole  maneuver  had  not  occupied  three  sec- 
onds. And,  by  the  time  Standish  had  the  door  closed 
and  had  started  back  toward  the  couch,  the  watch  and 
money  were  safe-hidden.  At  that,  there  had  been  little 
enough  time  to  spare.  It  had  been  a  matter  of  touch- 
and-go.  Nothing  but  the  odd  look  he  had  read  in 
Milo's  face  as  Standish  had  glanced  at  him  over  his 
shoulder,  would  have  led  Brice  to  take  such  a  chance. 
But,  all  at  once,  it  had  seemed  a  matter  of  stark 
necessity. 

The  narrow  escape  from  detection  set  his  strained 
nerves  to  twitching.  He  muttered  to  himself : 

"Come  along  then,  you  man-mountain!  You  wanted 
to  get  your  sister  out  of  the  way,  so  you  could  go 
through  my  clothes  and  see  if  I  was  lying  about  being 
flat  broke  and  if  I  had  any  incriminating  papers  on 
me.  Come  along,  and  search!  If  I  hadn't  brains 
enough  to  fool  a  chucklehead,  like  you,  I'd  go  out  of 
the  business  and  take  in  back-stairs  to  clean !" 

Milo  was  approaching  the  couch,  moving  with  a 
stealthy  lightness,  unusual  in  so  large  a  man.  Leaning 
over  the  supposedly  unconscious  Gavin,  he  ran  his 
fingers  deftly  through  Br ice's  several  pockets.  In  only 
two  was  he  lucky  to  find  anything. 

From  a  trousers  pocket  he  exhumed  seventy-eight 
cents.  From  the  inner  pocket  of  the  coat  he  extracted 
a  card,  postmarked  "New  York  City,"  and  addressed 
to  "Gavin  Brice,  General  Delivery,  Miami,  Florida" 
The  postcard  was  inscribed,  in  a  scrawling  hand : 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  85 

"Good  time  and  good  luck  and  good  health  to  you, 
•from  us  all.  Jack  O'G." 

Gavin  knew  well  the  contents  of  the  card;  having 
written  it  and  mailed  it  to  himself  on  the  eve  of  his 
departure  from  the  North.  It  was  as  mild  and  non- 
committal a  form  of  identification  a3  he  could  well 
have  chosen. 

Standish  read  the  banal  message  on  the  soiled  card ; 
then  restored  cash  and  postal  to  their  respective 
pockets.  After  which  he  stood  frowning  down  in 
puzzled  conjecture  on  the  moveless  Gavin. 

"Well,  old  chap!"  soliloquized  Brice.  "If  that  evi- 
dence doesn't  back  up  all  I  said  about  myself,  nothing 
will.  But,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  help  yourself  to 
a  pipeful  of  tobacco,  till  I  have  time  to  plant  the  loot 
deeper  in  the  jar!" 

He  heard  the  light  footfalls  of  women,  upstairs; 
where  Claire,  in  person,  seemed  to  be  superintending 
the  arrangement  of  his  room.  At  the  sound,  a  twinge 
of  compunction  swept  Brice.  But,  at  memory  of  her 
brother's  stealthy  ransacking  of  an  unconscious  guest's 
clothes,  the  feeling  passed,  leaving  only  a  warm  battle- 
thrill. 

Drowsily,  he  opened  his  eyes ;  and  stared  with  blank 
wonder  up  at  Milo.  Then,  shamefacedly,  he  mum- 
bled: 

"I — I  hope  I  wasn't  baby  enough  to— to  keel  over, 
Mr.  Standish?" 

"That's  all  right,"  answered  Milo.  "It  was  my 
fault.  I  was  a  boor.  And,  very  rightly,  you  decided 
you  didn't  care  to  stay  any  longer  under  my  roof. 


86  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

But  your  strength  wasn't  up  to  your  spirit.  So  you 
fainted.  I  —  I  want  to  apologize  for  speaking  as  I 
did.  I'm  mighty  grateful  to  you,  for  your  service  to 
me,  this  evening.  And  my  sister  and  I  want  you  to 
stay  on  here,  for  the  present.  When  you're  feeling 
more  like  yourself,  we'll  have  a  chat  about  that  job. 
I  think  we  can  fix  it,  all  right.  Nothing  big,  of 
course.  Nothing  really  worth  your  while.  But  it  may 
serve  as  a  stopgap;  till  you  get  a  chance  to  look  around 
you." 

"If  nothing  better  turns  up,"  suggested  Brice,  with 
a  weak  effort  at  lightness,  "you  might  hire  me  as  a 
bodyguard." 

"As  a  —  a  what?"  snapped  Milo,  in  sharp  suspicion; 
the  geniality  wiped  from  face  and  voice  with  ludicrous 
suddenness.  "A  -  ?" 

"As  a  bodyguard,"  repeated  Gavin,  not  seeming  to 
note  the  change  in  his  host.  "If  you're  in  the  habit  of 
being  set  upon,  often,  as  you  were,  this  evening  — 
you'll  be  better  off  with  a  good  husky  chap  to  act 


"Oh,  that?"  scoffed  Milo,  in  ponderous  contempt. 
"That  was  just  some  panhandler,  who  thought  he 
might  knock  me  over,  from  behind  ;  and  get  my  watch 
and  wallet.  The  same  thing  isn't  likely  to  happen 
again  in  a  century.  Florida  is  the  most  law-abiding 
State  in  the  Union.  And  Dade  County  is  perhaps 
the  most  law-abiding  part  of  Florida.  One  would 
need  a  bodyguard  in  New  York  City,  more  than  here. 
There  have  been  a  lot  of  holdups  there." 

Gavin  did  not  reply.     His  silence  seemed  to  annoy 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  87 

Milo;  who  burst  forth  again,  this  time  with  a  tinge 
of  open  amusement  in  his  contempt : 

"Besides — even  if  there  were  assassins  lurking  be- 
hind every  bunch  of  palmetto  scrub,  in  the  county — 
do  you  honestly  think  a  man  of  your  size  could  do 
very  much  toward  .protecting  me?  I'm  not  bragging. 
But  I'm  counted  one  of  the  strongest  men  in " 

"To-night,"  said  Brice,  drily,  "I  managed  to  be  of 
some  slight  use.  Pardon  my  mentioning  it.  If  I 
hadn't  been  there,  you'd  be  carrying  eight  inches  of 
cold  steel,  between  your  shoulders.  And — pardon 
me,  again — if  you'd  had  the  sense  to  stay  out  of  the 
squabble  a  second  or  so  longer,  the  man  who  tackled 
you  would  be  either  in  jail  or  in  the  morgue,  by  this 
time.  I'm  not  oversized.  But  neither  is  a  stick  of 
dynamite.  An  automatic  pistol  isn't  anywhere  as  big 
as  an  old-fashioned  blunderbuss.  But  it  can  outshoot 
and  outkill  the  blunderbuss,  with  very  little  bother. 
Think  it  over.  And,  while  you're  thinking,  stop  to 
think,  also,  that  a  'panhandler'  doesn't  do  his  work 
with' a  knife.  He  doesn't  try  to  stab  a  man  to  death, 
for  the  sake  of  the  few  dollars  the  victim  may  happen 
to  have  in  his  pockets.  That  sort  of  thing  calls  for 
pluck  and  iron  nerves  and  physical  strength.  If  a 
panhandler  had  those,  he  wouldn't  be  a  panhandler. 
Any  more  than  that  chap,  to-night,  was  a  panhandler. 
My  idea  of  acting  as  a  bodyguard  for  you  isn't  bad. 
Think  it  over.  You  seem  to  need  one." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  demanded  Milo,  in  one  of 
his  recurrent  flashes  of  suspicion. 

"Because,"  said  Gavin,  "we're  living  in  the  twen- 


88  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

tieth  century  and  in  real  life;  not  in  the  dark  ages  and 
in  a  dime  novel.  Nowadays,  a  man  doesn't  risk  capital 
punishment,  lightly,  for  the  fun  of  springing  on  a  total 
stranger,  in  the  dark,  with  a  razor-edge  knife.  Mr. 
Standish,  no  man  does  a  thing  like  that,  to  a  stranger ; 
or  without  some  mighty  motive.  It  is  no  business  of 
mine  to  ask  that  motive  or  to  horn  in  on  your  private 
affairs.  And  I  don't  care  to.  But,  from  your  looks, 
you're  no  fool.  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  that 
was  no  panhandler  or  even  a  highwayman.  It  was  an 
enemy  whose  motive  for  wanting  to  murder  you, 
silently  and  surely,  was  strong  enough  to  make  him 
willing  to  risk  death  or  capture.  Now,  when  you 

say  you  don't  need  a  bodyguard Well,  it's  your 

own  business,  of  course.  Let  it  go  at  that,  if  you 
like." 

Long  and  silently  Milo  Standish  looked  down  at 
the  nonchalant  invalid.  Above,  the  sounds  of  women's 
steps  and  an  occasional  snatch  of  a  sentence  could  be 
heard.  At  last,  Milo  spoke. 

"You  are  right,"  said  he,  very  slowly,  and  as  if 
measuring  his  every  word.  "You  are  right.  There 
are  one  or  two  men  who  would  like  to  get  this  land 
and  this  house  and — and  other  possessions  of  mine. 
There  is  no  reason  for  going  into  particulars  that 
wouldn't  interest  you.  Take  my  word.  Those  reasons 
are  potent.  I  have  reason  to  suspect  that  the  assault 
on  me,  this  evening,  is  concerned  with  their  general 
plan  to  get  rid  of  me.  Perhaps — perhaps  you're  right, 
about  my  need  of  a  bodyguard.  Though  it's  a  humili- 
ating thing  for  a  grown  man — especially  a  man  of  my 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD  89 

size  and  strength — to  confess.  We'll  talk  it  over,  to- 
morrow; if  you  are  well  enough." 

Brice  nodded,  absently ;  as  if  wearied  with  the  exer- 
tion of  their  talk.  His  eyes  had  left  Milo's;  and  had 
concentrated  on  the  man's  big  and  hairy  hands.  As 
Milo  spoke  of  the  supposititious  criminals  who  desired 
his  possessions  enough  to  do  murder  for  them,  his  fists 
clenched,  tightly.  And  to  Brice's  memory  came  a  wise 
old  adage: 

"When  you  think  a  man  is  lying  to  you,  don't  watch 
his  face.  Any  poker-player  can  make  his  face  a  mask. 
Watch  his  hands.  Ten  to  one,  if  he  is  lying,  he'll 
clench  them." 

Brice  noted  the  tightening  of  the  heavy  fists.  And 
he  was  convinced.  Yet,  he  told  himself,  in  disgust, 
that  even  a  child  of  six  would  scarce  have  needed  such 
confirmation  that  the  clumsily  blurted  tale  was  a  lie. 

He  nodded  again,  as  Milo  looked  at  him  with  a 
shade  of  anxiety. 

The  momentary  silence  was  broken  by  footsteps  on 
the  stairs.  Claire  was  descending.  Brice  gathered 
his  feet  under  him  and  sat  upright.  It  was  easier, 
now,  to  do  this ;  and  his  head  had  recovered  its  feeling 
of  normality,  though  it  still  ached  ferociously. 

At  the  same  instant,  through  the  open  doorway, 
from  across  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  the  secret 
path,  came  the  quaveringly  sweet  trill  of  a  mocking 
bird's  song.  Despite  himself,  Gavin's  glance  turned 
toward  the  doorway. 

"That's  just  a  mocker,"  Milo  explained,  loudly,  his 
face  reddening  as  he  looked  in  perturbation  at  his 


90  BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

guest.  "Sweet,  isn't  he?  They  often  sing,  off  and 
on,  for  an  hour  or  two  after  dark." 

"I  know  they  do,"  said  Gavin  (though  he  did  not 
say  it  aloud).  "But  in  Florida,  the  very  earliest  mock- 
ing bird  doesn't  sing  till  around  the  first  of  March. 
And  this  isn't  quite  the  middle  of  February.  There's 
not  a  mocking  bird  on  the  Peninsula  that  is  singing, 
yet.  The  very  dulcet  whistler,  out  yonder,  ought  to 
make  a  closer  study  of  ornithology.  He " 

Brice's  unspoken  thought  was  shattered.  For,  un- 
noticed by  him,  Milo  Standish  had  drawn  forth,  with 
tender  care,  an  exquisitely  carved  and  colored  meer- 
schaum pipe  from  a  case  on  the  smoking-stand ;  and 
was  picking  up  the  fat  tobacco  jar.. 


CHAPTER  IV! 
THE  STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE 

FOR  a  moment,  Brice  stared,  agape  and  helplessly 
flustered,  as  Standish  proceeded  to  thrust  his 
meerschaum's  rich-hued  bowl  into  the  tobacco  jar. 
Then,  apparently  galvanized  into  action  by  the  ap- 
proach of  Claire  from  the  stairway,  he  stepped  rapidly 
forward  to  meet  her. 

As  though  his  shaky  powers  were  not  equal  to  the 
task,  he  reeled,  lurched  with  all  his  might  against  the 
unprepared  Standish  and,  to  regain  his  balance,  took 
two  plunging  steps  forward. 

He  had  struck  Milo  at  such  an  angle  as  to  rap  the 
latter's  right  elbow  with  a  numbing  force  that  sent 
the  pipe  flying  half  way  across  the  hall.  The  tobacco 
jar  must  have  gone,  too;  had  not  one  of  Gavin's  out- 
flung  hands  caught  it  in  mid-air;  as  a  quarterback 
might  catch  a  football. 

Unable  to  recover  balance  and  to  check  his  own 
momentum,  Brice  scrambled  awkwardly  forward. 
One  stamping  heel  landed  full  on  the  fallen  meer- 
schaum; flattening  and  crumbling  the  beautiful  pipe 
into  a  smear  of  shapeless  clay-fragments. 

At  the  sight,  Milo  Standish  swore  loudly  and  came 
charging  forward  in  a  belated  hope  of  saving  his  be- 

93 


94  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

loved  pipe  from  destruction.  The  purchase  of  that 
meerschaum  had  been  a  joy  to  Milo.  Its  coloring  had 
been  a  long  and  careful  process.  And  now,  this 
bungler  had  smashed  it  into  nothingness ! 

Down  on  hands  and  knees  went  the  big  man;  fum- 
bling at  the  fragments.  Claire,  knowing  how  her 
brother  valued  the  pipe,  ran  to  his  side;  in  eager 
sympathy. 

Gavin  Brice  came  to  a  sliding  standstill  against  a 
heavy  hall-table.  On  this  he  leaned  heavily,  for  a  mo- 
ment or  so,  above  the  tobacco  jar  he  had  so  luckily 
salvaged  from  the  wreckage.  His  back  to  the  preoc- 
cupied couple,  he  flashed  his  sensitive  fingers  into  the 
jar ;  collecting  and  thrusting  into  his  pockets  the  watch 
and  the  thick  roll  of  bills  and  as  much  of  the  small 
change  as  his  fast-groping  fingertips  could  locate. 

By  the  time  Milo  looked  up  in  impotent  wrath, 
from  his  inspection  of  the  ruined  meerschaum,  Gavin 
had  turned  toward  him  and  was  babbling  a  torrent 
of  apology  for  his  own  awkwardness.  Milo  was 
glumly  silent;  as  the  contrite  words  beat  about  his 
ears.  But  Claire,  shamed  by  her  brother's  ungracious- 
ness, spoke  up,  courteously,  to  relieve  the  visitor's  dire 
embarrassment. 

"Please  don't  be  unhappy  about  it,  Mr.  Brice,"  she 
begged.  "It  was  just  an  accident.  It  couldn't  be 
helped.  I'm  sure  my  brother " 

"But "  stammered  Gavin. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right!"  grumbled  Milo,  scooping  up  the 
handful  of  crushed  meerschaum.  "Let  it  go  at  that. 
I " 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE      95 

Again,  the  mocking  bird  notes  fluted  forth  through 
the  early  evening  silences;  the  melody  coming,  as 
before,  from  the  direction  of  the  grove's  hidden  path. 
Milo  stopped  short  in  his  sulky  speech.  Brother  and 
sister  exchanged  a  swift  glance.  Then  Standish  got 
to  his  feet  and  approached  Gavin. 

"Here  we've  kept  you  up  and  around,  when  you're 
still  too  weak  to  move  without  help!"  he  said  in  very 
badly  done  geniality.  "Take  my  arm,  and  I'll  help 
you  upstairs.  Your  room's  all  ready  for  you.  If 
you'd  rather,  I  can  carry  you.  How  about  it?" 

But  a  perverse  imp  of  mischief  entered  Gavin  Brice's 
aching  head. 

"I'm  all  right,  now,"  he  protested.  "I  feel  fifty 
per  cent  better.  I'd  much  rather  stay  down  here  with 
you  and  Miss  Standish,  for  a  while;  if  you  don't  mind. 
My  nerves  are  a  bit  jumpy,  from  that  crack  over  the 
skull ;  and  I'd  like  them  to  quiet  down,  before  I  go  to 
bed." 

Again,  he  was  aware  of  that  look  of  covert  anxiety, 
between  sister  and  brother.  Claire's  big  eyes  strayed 
involuntarily  toward  the  front  door.  And  her  lips 
parted  for  some  word  of  urgence.  But,  before  she 
could  speak,  Milo  laughed  loudly,  and  caught  Gavin" 
by  the  arm. 

"You've  got  pluck,  Brice!"  he  cried,  admiringly. 
"You're  ashamed  to  give  up  and  go  to  bed.  But 
you're  going,  just  the  same.  You're  going  to  get  a 
good  night's  rest.  I  don't  intend  to  have  you  fall  sick, 
from  that  tap  I  gave  you  with  the  wrench.  Come  on  I 


96  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

I'll  bring  you  some  fresh  dressings  for  your  head,  by 
the  time  you're  undressed," 

As  he  talked,  he  passed  one  huge  arm  around  Gavin 
and  carried,  rather  than  led,  him  to  the  stairway. 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Brice,"  called  Claire,  from  near 
the  doorway.  "I  do  hope  your  head  will  be  ever  so 
much  better  in  the  morning.  If  you  want  anything  in 
the  night,  there's  a  call-bell  I've  put  beside  your  bed" 

Once  more  a  dizzy  weakness  seemed  to  have  over- 
come Gavin.  For,  after  a  single  attempt  at  resistance, 
he  swayed  and  hung  heavy  on  Standish's  supporting 
arm.  He  made  shift  to  mumble  a  dazed  good  night  to 
Claire.  Then  he  suffered  Milo  to  support  him  up  the 
stairs  and  along  the  wide  upper  hall  to  the  open  door- 
way of  a  bedroom. 

Even  at  the  threshold,  he  seemed  too  uncertain  of 
his  footing  to  cross  the  soft-lit  room  alone.  And  Milo 
supported  him  to  the  bed.  Gavin  slumped  heavily 
upon  the  side  of  it,  his  aching  head  in  his  hands. 
Then,  as  if  with  much  effort,  he  lay  down;  burying 
his  face  in  the  pillow. 

Milo  had  been  watching  him;  with  growing  im- 
patience to  be  gone.  Now  he  said,  cheerily : 

"That's  all  right,  old  chap!  Lie  still,  for  a  while. 
I'll  be  up,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  help  you  undress." 

Standish  was  hurrying  from  the  room  and  closing 
the  door  behind  him,  even  as  he  spoke.  With  the  last 
word,  the  door  shut;  and  Gavin  could  hear  the  big 
man's  footsteps  hastening  along  the  upper  hall  toward 
the  stair-head. 

Brice  gave  him  a  bare  thirty  seconds'  start    Then, 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE      97 

rising,  with  strange  energy  for  so  dazed  and  broken 
an  invalid,  he  left  the  room  and  followed  him  toward 
the  head  of  the  stairs.  His  light  footfall  was  sound- 
less on  the  matting,  as  he  went. 

He  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  just  as  Milo  ar- 
rived at  the  bottom.  Claire  was  standing  in  the 
veranda  doorway,  shading  her  eyes  and  peering  out 
into  the  darkness.  But,  at  sound  of  her  brother's 
advancing  tread,  she  turned  and  ran  back  to  him; 
meeting  him  as  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stair; 
and  clasping  both  hands  anxiously  about  his  big  fore- 
arm. 

She  seemed  about  to  break  out  in  excited,  even 
frightened  speech;  when,  chancing  to  raise  her  eyes, 
she  saw  Gavin  Brice  calmly  descending  from  the  hall 
above.  At  sight  of  him,  her  eyes  dilated.  Milo  had 
begun  to  speak.  She  put  one  hand  warningly  across 
her  brother's  bearded  mouth.  At  the  same  moment 
Gavin,  halting  midway  on  the  stairs,  said  with  depre- 
catory meekness : 

"You  didn't  tell  me  what  time  to  be  ready  for  break- 
fast. I'd  hate  to  be  late,  and " 

He  got  no  further.  Nor  did  he  seek  to.  His  ears 
had  been  straining  to  make  certain  of  the  ever  ap- 
proaching sound  of  footsteps  across  the  lawn.  Now, 
an  impatient  tread  echoed  on  the  veranda ;  and  a  man's 
figure  blocked  the  doorway. 

The  newcomer  was  slender,  graceful,  with  the  form 
of  an  athletic  boy,  rather  than  of  a  mature  man.  He 
was  pallid  and  black  eyed.  His  face  had  a  classic 
beauty  which,  on  second  glance,  was  marred  by  an 


98  BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

almost  snakelike  aspect  of  the  small  black  eyes  and  a 
sinister  smile  which  seemed  to  hover  eternally  around 
the  thin  lips.  His  whole  bearing  suggested  something 
serpentine;  in  its  grace  and  a  smoothly  'half-jesting 
deadliness. 

So  much  the  first  glimpse  told  Brice  as  he  stood 
there  on  the  stairs  and  surveyed  the  doorway.  The 
second  look  showed  him  the  man  was  clad  in  a  strik- 
ingly ornate  yachting  costume.  Gavin's  mind,  ever 
taught  to  dissect  trifles,  noted  that,  in  spite  of  his 
yachtsman-garb,  the  stranger's  face  was  untanned; 
and  that  his  long  slender  hands  with  their  super- 
sensitive  fingers,  were  as  white  and  well-cared-for  as 
a  woman's. 

Yachting,  in  Florida  waters,  at  any  time  of  year, 
means  either  a  thick  coat  of  tan  or  an  exaggerated 
sunburn.  This  yachtsman  had  neither. 

Scarce  taller  than  a  lad  of  fifteen,  yet  his  slender 
figure  was  sinuous  in  its  every  line;  and  its  grace  be- 
tokened much  wiry  strength.  His  face  was  that  of  a 
man  in  the  early  thirties; — all  but  his  eyes.  They 
looked  as  old  as  the  Sphinx's. 

He  stood,  for  an  instant,  peering  into  the  room; 
trying  to  focus  his  night-accustomed  eyes  to  the  light. 
Evidently,  the  first  objects  he  saw  clearly  were  Milo 
and  Claire,  standing  with  their  backs  to  him,  as  they 
stared  upward  in  blank  dismay  at  the  guest  they  had 
thought  safely  disposed  of  for  the  night. 

"Well?"  queried  the  man  at  the  door; — and  at  sound 
of  his  silken,  bantering  voice,  brother  and  sister  spun 
about  in  surprise,  to  face  him. 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE      99 

"Well?"  he  repeated;  and  now  there  was  a  touch  of 
cold  rebuke  in  the  silken  tones.  "Is  this  the  way  you 
keep  a  lookout  for  the  signals  ?  I  might  very  well  have 
walked  in  on  a  convention  of  half  of  Dade  County; 
for  all  the  guard  that  was  kept.  I  compliment " 

And  now,  he  broke  off  short  in  his  sneering  reproof; 
as  his  eyes  chanced  upon  Gavin,  half  way  down  the 
stairs. 

For  a  second  or  more,  no  one  spoke  or  moved. 
Claire  and  her  brother  had  an  absurdly  shamefaced 
appearance  of  two  bad  children  caught  in  mischief  by 
a  stern  and  much-feared  teacher.  Into  the  black  depths 
of  the  stranger's  eyes  flickered  a  sudden  glint  like  that 
of  a  striking  rattlesnake's.  But  at  once  his  face  was 
a  slightly-smiling  mask,  once  more.  And  Gavin  was 
left  doubting  whether  or  not  he  had  really  seen  that 
momentary  gleam  of  murder  behind  the  smiling  eyes. 
It  was  Claire  who  first  recovered  herself. 

"Good  evening,  Rodney,"  she  said,  with  a  gracious- 
ness,  which  ail-but  hid  her  evident  nerve  strain.  "You 
stole  in  on  us  so  suddenly  you  startled  me.  Mr. 
Brice,  this  is  Mr.  Rodney  Hade." 

As  Gavin  bowed  civilly  and  as  Hade  returned  the 
salutation  with  his  eternal  smile,  Milo  Standish  came 
sufficiently  out  of  his  own  shock  of  astonishment  to 
follow  his  sister's  mode  of  greeting  the  new  visitor. 
With  the  same  forced  joviality  he  had  used  in  coercing 
Brice  to  go  to  bed,  he  sauntered  over  to  the  smiling 
Hade;  exclaiming: 

"Why,  hello,  old  man!  Where  did  you  blow  in 
from?  You  must  have  come  across  from  your  house 


100         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

on  foot  I  didn't  hear  the  car.  ...  I  want  you  to 
know  Brice,  here.  I  was  tackled  by  a  holdup  man,  out- 
side, yonder,  a  while  ago.  And  he'd  have  gotten  me, 
too;  if  Brice  hadn't  sailed  into  him.  In  the  scrimmage 
I  made  a  fool  of  myself,  as  usual;  and  slugged  the 
wrong  man  with  a  monkey  wrench.  Poor  Brice's  re- 
ward, for  saving  my  life,  was  a  broken  head.  He's 
staying  the  night  with  us.  He " 

The  big  man  had  spoken  glibly,  but  with  a  nervous- 
ness which,  more  and  more,  cropped  out  through  his 
noisy  joviality.  Now,  under  the  coldly  unwavering 
smile  of  Hade's  snakelike  eyes,  he  stammered;  and 
his  booming  voice  trailed  away  to  a  mumble.  Again, 
Claire  sought  to  mend  the  rickety  situation.  But,  now, 
Gavin  Brice  forestalled  her.  Passing  one  hand  over 
his  bandaged  forehead,  he  said : 

"If  you'll  forgive  me  having  butted  in,  again,  I'll 
go  up  to  my  room.  I'm  pretty  shaky,  you  see.  I  just 
wanted  to  know  what  time  breakfast  is  to  be ;  and  if  I 
can  borrow  one  of  your  brother's  razors  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Breakfast  is  at  seven  o'clock,"  answered  Claire, 
"Thatls  a  barbarously  early  hour,  I  suppose,  for  a  New 
Yorker  like  you.  But  down  here,  from  six  to  ten  is 
the  glorious  part  of  the  day.  Besides,  we're  farmers, 
you  know.  Don't  bother  to  try  to  wake,  so  early, 
please.  I'll  have  your  breakfast  sent  up  to  you.  Good 
night." 

"I'll  look  in  on  you,  before  I  go  to  bed,"  called 
Milo,  after  him,  as  he  started  up  the  stairs  for  the 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    10X 

second  time.  "And  I'll  see  that  shaving  things  are  left 
in  your  bathroom.  Good  night." 

Hade  said  nothing;  but  continued  to  pierce  the  un- 
bidden guest  with  those  gimlet-like  smiling  black  eyes 
of  his.  His  face  was  expressionless.  Gavin  returned 
to  the  upper  hall,  and  walked  with  needless  heaviness 
toward  the  room  assigned  to  him.  Reaching  its  door 
he  opened  and  then  shut  it  loudly;  himself  remaining 
in  the  hallway.  Scarce  had  the  door  slammed,  when 
Tie  heard,  from  below,  Rodney  Hade's  voice  raised  in 
the  sharp  question: 

"What  does  this  mean?    You've  dared  to ?" 

"What  the  blazes  else  could  I  do?"  blustered  Milo 
— though  under  the  bluster  ran  a  thread  of  placating 
timidity.  "He  saved  my  life,  didn't  he?  I  was  tackled 
by " 

"For  one  thing,"  suggested  Hade,  "you  could  have 
hit  a  little  harder  with  the  wrench.  If  a  blow  is  worth 
hitting  at  all,  it's  worth  hitting  to  kill.  You  have  the 
strength  of  an  elephant ;  and  the  nerve  of  a  sheep." 

"Rodney!"  protested  Claire,  indignantly.   "He " 

"I've  seen  his  face,  somewhere,"  went  on  Hade,  un- 
heeding. "I  could  swear  to  that.  I  can't  place  it,  yet. 
But  I  shall.  Meantime,  get  rid  of  him.  And  now 
I'll  hear  about  this  attack  on  you.  .  .  .  Come  out  on 
the  veranda.  This  hall  reeks  of  iodine  and  liniment 
and  all  such  stuff.  It  smells  like  a  hospital  ward 
Come  outside." 

Despite  the  unvarying  sweet  smoothness  of  his  dic- 
tion, he  spoke  as  if  giving  orders  to  a  servant.  But 
apparently  neither  of  the  two  Standishes  resented  his 


102         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

dictation.  For  Brice  could  hear  them  follow  Hade  out 
of  the  house.  And  from  the  veranda,  presently,  came 
the  booming  murmur  of  Standish's  voice  in  a  recital 
of  some  kind. 

Gavin  reopened  his  bedroom  door  and  entered. 
Shutting  the  door  softly  behind  him,  he  made  a  brief 
mental  inventory  of  the  room;  then  undressed  and  got 
into  bed.  Ten  minutes  later  Miles  Standish  came  into 
the  room,  carrying  fresh  dressings  and  a  bottle  of 
lotion,  Gavin  roused  himself  from  a  half -doze  and 
was  duly  grateful  for  the  dexterous  applying  of  the 
new  bandages  to  his  bruised  scalp. 

"You  work  like  a  surgeon,"  he  told  Milo. 

"Thanks,"  returned  Standish,  drily,  making  no  other 
comment  on  the  praise. 

His  task  accomplished,  Standish  bade  his  guest  a 
curt  good  night;  and  left  the  room.  A  minute  later, 
Gavin  got  up  and  stole  to  the  door  to  verify  a  faint 
sound  he  fancied  he  had  heard.  And  he  found  he  had 
been  correct  in  his  guess.  For  the  door  was  locked, 
from  the  outside. 

Brice  crept  to  the  windows.  The  room  was  in  dark- 
ness; and,  unseen,  he  could  look  out  on  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  As  he  looked,  a  faint  reddish  spot  of  fire 
appeared  in  the  gloom,  just  at  the  beginning  of  the 
lawn.  Some  one,  cigar  in  mouth,  was  evidently  keep- 
ing a  watch  on  his  room's  windows.  Gavin  smiled  to 
himself ;  and  went  back  to  bed. 

"Door  locked,  windows  guarded,"  he  reflected, 
amusedly.  "I  owe  that  to  Mr.  Hade's  orders.  Seen 
me  before,  has  he?  I'll  bet  my  year's  income  he'll 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    103 

never  remember  where  or  when  or  how.  At  that,  he's 
clever,  even  to  think  he's  seen  me.  It  looks  as  if  I  had 
let  myself  in  for  a  wakeful  time,  down  here,  doesn't 
it?  But  I'm  getting  the  tangled  ends  all  in  my  hands; 
— as  fast  as  I  had  any  right  to  hope.  That  rap  on  the 
skull  was  a  godsend.  He  can't  refuse  me  a  job  after 
my  fight  for  him.  No  one  could.  I — oh,  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  girl,  this  would  be  great!  What  can  a  girl, 
with  eyes  like  hers,  be  doing  in  a  crowd  like  this? 
I'd — I'd  have  been  willing  to  swear  she  was — was — 

one  of  the  women  whom  God  made.    And  now ! 

Still,  if  a  woman  lets  herself  in  for  this  kind  of  thing, 
she  can't  avoid  paying  the  bill.  Only — if  I  can  save 

her,    without Oh,    I'm    turning    into    a    mushy 

fool,  in  my  old  age!  .  .  .  And  she  sobbed,  when  she 
thought  I  was  killed!  .  .  .  I've  got  to  get  a  real 
night's  rest;  if  I  want  to  have  my  wits  about  me, 
to-morrow." 

He  stretched  himself  out  luxuriously  in  the  cool 
bed;  and  in  less  than  five  minutes,  he  was  sleeping  as 
sweetly  and  as  deeply  as  a  child.  Long  experience  in 
the  European  trenches  and  elsewhere  had  taught  him 
the  rare  gift  of  slumbering  at  will;  a  gift  which  had 
done  much  toward  keeping  his  nerves  and  his  facul- 
ties in  perfect  condition.  For,  sleep  is  the  keynote  to 
more  than  mankind  realizes. 

The  sun  had  risen  when  Gavin  Brice  awoke.  Apart 
from  stiffness  and  a  very  sore  head,  his  inured  system 
was  little  the  worse  for  the  evening's  misadventures. 
A  cold  shower  and  a  rubdown  and  a  shave,  in  the 


104         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

adjoining  bathroom,  cleared  away  the  last  mists  from 
his  brain. 

He  dressed,  quickly ;  glanced  at  his  watch  and  saw  the 
hour  was  not  quite  seven.  Then  he  faced  his  bedroom 
door,  and  hesitated. 

"If  he's  a  born  idiot,"  he  mused,  "it's  still  locked. 
If  he  isn't,  it's  unlocked  and  the  key  has  been  taken 
away.  I've  made  noise  enough,  while  I  was  dressing." 

He  turned  the  knob.  The  door  opened,  readily. 
The  key  was  gone.  In  the  hallway,  outside  the  room, 
and  staring  up  at  him  from  widely  shallow  green  eyes, 
sat  Simon  Cameron,  the  big  Persian  cat. 

"That's  a  Persian,  all  over,  Simon  my  friend,"  said 
Brice,  stooping  down  to  scratch  the  cat's  furry  head 
in  greeting.  "A  Persian  will  sit  for  hours  in  front  of 
any  door  that's  got  a  stranger  behind  it.  And  he'll 
show  more  flattering  affection  for  a  stranger  than  for 
any  one  he's  known  all  his  life.  Isn't  that  true,  Simon?" 

By  way  of  response,  the  big  cat  rubbed  himself  lux- 
uriously against  the  man's  shins ;  purring  loudly.  Then, 
at  a  single  lithe  spring,  he  was  on  Gavin's  shoulder ; 
making  queer  little  whistling  noises  and  rubbing  his 
head  lovingly  against  Brice's  cheek.  Gavin  made  his 
way  downstairs,  the  cat  still  clinging  to  his  shoulder; 
fanning  his  face  with  a  swishing  gray  foxlike  tail, 
digging  curved  claws  back  and  forth  into  the  cloth  of 
his  shabby  coat;  and  purring  like  a  distant  railroad 
train. 

Only  when  they  reached  the  lower  hallway  did  the  cat 
jump  from  his  shoulder  and  with  a  flying  leap  land  on 
the  top  of  a  nearby  bookcase.  There,  luxuriously, 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    105 

Simon  Cameron  stretched  himself  out  in  a  shaft  of  sun- 
light; and  prepared  for  a  nap. 

Brice  went  on  to  the  veranda.  On  the  lawn,  scarce 
fifty  feet  away,  Claire  was  gathering  flowers  for  the 
breakfast  table.  Very  sweet  and  dainty  was  she  in 
the  flood  of  morning  sunshine;  her  white  dress  and 
her  burnished  hair  giving  back  waves  of  radiance  from 
the  sun's  strong  beams. 

At  her  side  walked  Bobby  Burns.  But,  on  first 
sound  of  Brice's  step  on  the  porch,  the  collie  looked 
up  and  saw  him.  With  a  joyous  bark  of  welcome, 
Bobby  came  dashing  across  the  lawn  and  up  the  steps. 
Leaping  and  gamboling  around  Gavin,  he  set  the  echoes 
ringing  with  a  series  of  trumpet-barks.  The  man 
paused  to  pet  his  adorer  and  to  say  a  word  of  friendli- 
ness ;  then  ran  down  the  steps  toward  Claire  who  was 
advancing  to  meet  him.  Her  arms  were  full  of  scarlet 
and  golden  blossoms. 

"Are  you  better?"  she  called,  noting  the  bandage 
on  his  head  had  been  replaced  by  a  neat  strip  of  plaster. 
"I  hoped  you'd  sleep  longer.  Bobby  Burns  ran  up  to 
your  room  and  scratched  at  the  door,  as  soon  as  I  let 
him  into  the  house  this  morning.  But  I  made  him  come 
away  again.  Arc-  " 

"He  left  a  worthy  substitute  welcoming-committee, 
there;  in  the  shape  of  Simon  Cameron,"  said  Gavin, 
"Simon  was  overwhelmingly  cordial  to  me; — for  a 
Persian.  .  .  .  I'm  all  right  again,  thanks,"  he  added. 
"I  had  a  grand  night's  rest.  It  was  fine  to  sleep  in  a 
real  bed,  again,  I  hope  I'm  not  late  for  breakfast?" 


106         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

A  shade  of  embarrassment  flitted  over  her  eyes; 
and  she  made  answer: 

"My  brother  had  to  go  into  Miami,  on — on  business. 
So  he  had  breakfast,  early.  He'll  hardly  be  back  be- 
fore noon,  he  says.  So  you  and  I  will  have  to  break- 
fast without  him.  I  hope  you  don't  mind?" 

As  there  seemed  no  adequate  reply  to  this  useless 
question,  the  man  contented  himself  with  following  her, 
wordlessly,  into  the  cool  house.  She  seemed  to  bring 
light  and  youth  and  happiness  indoors  with  her;  and 
the  armful  of  flowers  she  carried  filled  the  dim  hall- 
way with  perfume. 

Breakfast  was  a  simple  meal ;  and  soon  eaten.  Brice 
brought  to  it  only  a  moderate  appetite;  and  was  an- 
noyed to  find  his  thoughts  centering  themselves  about 
the  slender  white-clad  girl  across  the  table  from  him, 
rather  than  upon  his  food  or  even  upon  his  plan  of 
campaign.  He  replied  in  monosyllables  to  her  pleasant 
table-talk;  and  when  his  eye  chanced  to  meet  hers, 
he  had  an  odd  feeling  of  guilt. 

She  was  so  pretty,  so  little,  so  young,  so  adorably 
friendly  and  innocent  in  her  every  look  and  word! 
Something  very  like  a  heartache  began  to  manifest 
itself  in  Gavin  Brice's  supposedly  immune  breast.  And 
this  annoyed  him,  more  than  ever.  He  told  himself 
solemnly  that  this  girl  was  none  of  the  wonderful 
things  she  seemed  to  be;  and  that  he  was  an  idiot  for 
feeling  as  he  did. 

To  shake  free  from  his  unwonted  reverie,  he  asked 
abruptly,  as  the  meal  ended: 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  you  drew  a  re- 


volver  on  me,  last  evening?  You  don't  seem  the  kind 
of  girl  to  adopt  Wild  West  tactics  and  to  carry  a  pistol 
around  with  you,  here  in  peaceful  Florida.  I  don't 
want  to  seem  inquisitive,  of  course;  but " 

"And  I  don't  want  to  seem  secretive,"  she  replied, 
nervously.  "All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  my  brother  has 
— has  enemies  (as  you  know,  from  the  attack  on 
him)  and  that  he  doesn't  think  it  is  safe  for  me  to  go 
around  the  grounds  alone,  late  in  the  day,  unarmed. 
So  he  gave  me  that  old  pistol  of  his;  and  asked  me 
to  carry  it.  That  was  why  he  sent  North  for  Bobby 
Burns — as  a  guard  for  me  and  for  the  place,  here. 
When  I  saw  you  appearing  out  of  the  swamp  I — I  took 
you  for  some  one  else.  I'm  sorry." 

"I'm  not,"  he  made  answer.     "I " 

"You  must  have  a  charming  idea  of  our  hospitality," 
she  went  on  with  a  nervous  little  laugh.  "First  I 
threaten  to  shoot  you.  Then  my  brother  stuns  you. 
And  both  times  when  you  are  doing  us  a  service." 

"Please!"  he  laughed.  "And  if  it  comes  to  that, 
what  must  you  people  think  of  a  down-at-heel  Yankee 
who  descends  on  you  and  cadges  for  a  job,  after  he's 
been  told  there's  no  work  here  for  him?" 

"Oh,  but  there  is !"  she  insisted.  "Milo  told  me  so, 
this  morning.  And  you're  to  stay  here,  till  he  comes 
back  and  can  talk  things  over  with  you.  Would  you 
care  to  walk  around  the  farm  and  the  groves,  with  me? 
Or  would  the  sun  be  bad  for  your  head?" 

"It  would  be  just  the  thing  my  head  needs  most," 
he  declared.  "Besides,  I've  heard  so  much  of  these 
wonderful  Florida  farms,  I'm  mighty  anxious  to  in- 


108         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

spect  one  of  them.  We  can  start  whenever  you're 
ready." 

Ten  minutes  later,  they  had  left  the  lawn  behind 
them ;  and  had  passed  through  the  hedge  into  the  first 
of  the  chain  of  citrus  groves.  In  front  of  them 
stretched  some  fifteen  acres  of  grapefruit  trees. 

"This  is  the  worst  soil  we  have,"  lectured  Claire,  evi- 
dently keenly  interested  in  the  theme  of  agriculture, 
and  glad  of  an  attentive  listener.  "It  is  more  coral 
rock  than  anything  else.  That  is  why  Milo  planted  it 
in  grapefruit.  Grapefruit  will  grow  where  almost 
nothing  else  will,  you  know.  Why,  last  year  wasn't 
by  any  means  a  banner  season.  But  he  made  $16,000 
in  gross  profits  off  this  one  grapefruit  orchard  alone. 
Of  course  that  was  gross,  and  not  net.  But  it " 

"Is  there  so  much  difference  between  the  two?"  he 
asked,  innocently.  "Down  here,  I  mean.  Up  North, 
we  have  an  idea  that  all  you  Floridians  need  do  is 
to  stick  a  switch  into  the  rich  soil;  and  let  it  grow. 
We  picture  you  as  loafing  around  in  dreamy  idleness  till 
it's  time  to  gather  your  fruit  and  to  sell  it  at  egregious 
prices  to  us  poor  Northerners." 

"It's  a  lovely  picture,"  she  retorted.  "And  it's  ex- 
actly upside  down;  like  most  Northern  ideas  of  Flor- 
ida. When  it  comes  to  picking  the  fruit  and  shipping 
it  North — that's  the  one  time  we  can  loaf.  For  we 
don't  pick  it  or  ship  it.  That's  done  for  us,  on  con- 
tract. It's  our  lazy  time.  But  every  other  step  is  a 
fight.  For  instance,  there's  the  woolly  white  fly  and 
there's  the  rust  mite  and  there's  the  purple  scale,  and 
there  are  a  million  other  pests  just  as  bad.  And  we 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    109 

have  to  battle  with  them,  all  the  time.  And  when  we 
spray  with  the  pumping  engine,  the  sand  is  certain  to 
get  into  the  engine  and  ruin  it.  And  when  we " 

"I  had  no  notion  that " 

"No  Northerners  have,"  she  said,  warming  to  her 
theme.  "I  wish  I  could  set  some  of  them  to  scrubbing 
orange-trunks  with  soap-and-water,  and  spraying  acre 
after  acre,  as  we  do ;  in  a  wild  race  to  keep  up  with  the 
pests ; — knowing  all  the  time  that  some  careless  grove- 
owner  next  door  may  let  the  rust  mite  or  the  black 
fly  get  the  better  of  his  grove  and  let  it  drift  over  into 
ours.  Then,  there's  always  the  chance  that  a  grove  may 
get  so  infected  that  the  government  will  order  it  de- 
stroyed,— wiped  out.  .  .  .  I've  been  talking  just  about 
the  citrus  fruits; — the  grapefruit  and  the  tangeloes 
and  oranges  and  all  that.  Pretty  much  the  same  thing 
applies  to  all  our  crops,  down  here.  We've  as  many 
blights  and  pests  and  weather-troubles  as  you  have  in 
the  North.  And,  now  and  then,  even  in  Dade  County, 
we  get  a  frost  that  does  more  damage  than  a  forest 
fire." 

As  she  talked,  they  passed  out  of  the  grapefruit 
grove ;  and  came  to  a  plantation  of  orange  trees. 

"These  are  the  joy  of  Milo's  heart,"  she  said  with 
real  pride,  waving  her  little  hand  toward  the  well- 
ranked  lines  of  blossoming  and  bearing  young  trees. 
"Last  year,  he  cleared  up,  from  this  five-acre  plot  alone, 
more  than " 

"Excuse  me,"  put  in  Gavin.  "I  don't  mean  to  be 
rude.  But,  since  he's  made  such  a  fine  grove  of  it 
and  takes  such  pride  in  its  looks,  why  doesn't  he  send 


110         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

a  man  or  two  out  here  with  a  hoe ;  and  get  rid  of  that 
tangle  of  weeds?  It  covers  the  ground  of  the  whole 
grove;  and  it  grows  rankly,  under  every  tree.  If  you'll 
pardon  me  for  saying  so,  it  gives  the  place  an  awfully 
unkempt  look.  If " 

Her  gay  laugh  broke  in  on  his  somewhat  hesitant 
criticism. 

"Say  that  to  any  Floridian,"  she  mocked,  "and  he'll 
save  you  the  trouble  of  looking  for  work,  by  getting 
you  admitted  to  the  nearest  asylum.  Why,  Milo  fos- 
ters those  weeds  and  fertilizes  them  and  even  warns 
the  men  not  to  trample  them  in  walking  here.  If  you 
should  begin  your  work  for  Milo  by  hoeing  out  any  of 
these  weeds,  he'd  have  to  buy  weed-seeds  and  sow  them 
all  over  again.  He " 

"Then  there's  a  market  for  this  sort  of  stuff?"  he 
asked,  stooping  to  inspect  with  interest  a  spray  of 
smelly  ragweed.  "I  didn't  know " 

"No,"  she  corrected.  "But  the  market  for  our 
oranges  would  slump,  without  them.  Here  in  the  sub- 
tropics,  the  big  problem  is  water,  for  moistening  the 
soil.  Very  few  of  us  irrigate.  We  have  plenty  of 
water,  as  a  rule.  But  we  also  have  more  than  a  plenty 
of  sun.  The  sun  sucks  up  the  water  and  leaves  the 
soil  parched.  In  a  grove  like  this,  the  roots  of  the 
orange  trees  would  suffer  from  it.  These  weeds  shel- 
ter the  roots  from  the  sun;  and  they  help  keep  the 
moisture  in  the  ground.  They  are  worth  everything 
to  us.  Of  course,  in  some  of  the  fields  we  mulch,  to 
keep  the  ground  damp.  Milo  bought  a  whole  carload 
of  Australian  pine  needles,  last  month,  at  Miami. 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    111 

They  make  a  splendid  mulch.  Wild  hay  is  good,  too. 
So  is  straw.  But  the  pine-needles  are  cheapest  and 
easiest  to  get.  The  rain  soaks  down  through  them 
into  the  ground.  And  they  keep  the  sun  from  drawing 
it  back  again.  Besides,  they  keep  down  weeds,  in  fields 
where  we  don't  want  weeds.  See!"  she  ended,  point- 
ing to  a  new  grove  they  were  approaching. 

Gavin  noted  that  here  the  orange  tree  rows  were 
alternated  with  rows  of  strawberry  plants. 

"That  was  an  idea  of  Milo's,  too,"  she  explained. 
"It's  'intercrop'  farming.  And  he's  done  splendidly 
with  it,  so  far.  He  thinks  the  eel-worm  doesn't  get 
at  the  berry-plants  as  readily,  here,  as  in  the  open ;  but 
he's  not  sure  of  that,  yet.  He's  had  to  plant  cowpeas 
on  one  plot,  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"The  experiment  of  intercropping  orange  trees  with 
strawberries  isn't  new,"  said  Brice,  thoughtlessly. 
"When  the  plants  are  as  thick  as  he's  got  them  here,  it's 
liable  to  harm  the  trees,  in  the  course  of  time.  Two 
rows,  at  most,  are  all  you  ought  to  plant  between  the 
tree-ranks.  And  that  mulch,  over  there,  is  a  regular 
Happy  Home  for  crickets.  If  Standish  isn't  care- 
ful  " 

The  girl  was  staring  up  at  him  in  astonishment 
And  Gavin  was  aware  for  the  first  time  that  he  had 
been  thinking  aloud. 

"You  see,"  he  expounded,  smiling  vaingloriously 
down  at  her,  "I  amused  myself,  at  the  Miami  library 
Saturday,  by  browsing  over  a  sheaf  of  Government 
plant  reports.  And  those  two  solid  facts  stuck  in  my 


112         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

memory.  Now,  won't  I  be  an  invaluable  aide  to  your 
brother,  if  I  can  remember  everything  else,  as  easily?" 

Still  puzzled,  she  continued  to  look  up  at  him, 

"It's  queer  that  a  man  who  has  just  come  down 
here  should  remember  such  a  technical  thing,"  said 
she.  "And  yesterday,  you  warned  me  against  letting 
Bobby  Burns  wander  in  the  palmetto  scrub;  for  fear 
of  rattlesnakes.  I " 

"That  deep  mystery  is  also  easy  to  solve,"  he  said. 
"In  the  smoker,  on  the  way  South,  several  men  were 
telling  how  they  had  lost  valuable  hunting  dogs,  here- 
abouts, from  rattlesnakes.  I  like  Bobby  Burns.  So 
I  passed  along  the  warning.  What  are  those  queer 
trees?"  he  asked,  shifting  the  dangerous  subject  "I 
mean  the  ones  that  look  like  a  mixture  of  horse-chest- 
nut and " 

"Avocadoes,"  she  answered,  interest  in  the  task  of 
farm-guide  making  her  forget  her  momentary  bewil- 
derment at  his  scraps  of  local  knowledge.  "They're 
one  of  our  best  crops.  Sometimes  a  single  avocado 
will  sell  in  open  market  here  for  as  much  as  forty  cents. 
There's  money  in  them,  nearly  always.  Good  money. 
And  the  spoiled  ones  are  great  for  the  pigs.  Then 
the  Northern  market  for  them " 

"Avocadoes ?"  he  repeated,  curiously.  "There!  Now 
you  see  how  much  I  know  about  Florida.  From  this 
distance,  their  fruits  look  to  me  exactly  like  alligator 
pears  or " 

Again,  her  laugh  interrupted  him. 

"If  only  you'd  happened  to  look  in  one  or  two  more 
government  reports  at  the  library,"  she  teased,  "you'd 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    113 

know  that  an  avocado  and  an  alligator  pear  are  the 
same  thing." 

"Anyhow,"  he  boasted,  picking  up  a  gold-red  fruit 
at  the  edge  of  a  smaller  grove,  they  were  passing, 
"anyhow,  I  know  what  this  is;  without  being  told. 
I've  seen  them  a  hundred  times  in  the  New  York  mar- 
kets. This  is  a  tangerine," 

"In  that  statement,"  she  made  judicial  reply,  "you've 
made  only  two  mistakes.  You're  improving.  In  the 
first  place,  that  isn't  a  tangerine;  though  it  looks  like 
one—or  would  if  it  were  half  as  large.  That's  a  king 
orange.  In  the  second  place,  you've  hardly  ever  seen 
them  in  any  New  York  market.  They  don't  transport 
as  well  as  some  other  varieties.  And  very  few  of 
them  go  North.  Northerners  don't  know  them.  And 
they  miss  a  lot.  For  the  king  is  the  most  delicious 
orange  in  the  world.  And  it's  the  trickiest  and  hardest 
for  us  to  raise.  See,  the  skin  comes  off  it  as  easily 
as  off  of  a  tangerine;  and  it  breaks  apart  in  the  same 
way.  The  rust  mite  has  gotten  at  this  one.  See  that 
russet  patch  on  one  side  of  it?  You'll  often  see  it 
on  oranges  that  go  North.  Sometimes,  they're  russet, 
all  over.  That  means  the  rust  mite  has  dried  the  oil  in 
the  skin  and  made  the  skin  thinner  and  more  brittle. 
It  doesn't  seem  to  injure  the  taste.  But  it " 

"There's  a  grand  tree,  over  toward  the  road,"  he 
said,  his  attention  wandering.  "It  must  be  nearly  a 
century  old.  It  has  the  most  magnificent  sweep  of 
foliage  I've  seen  since  I  left  the  North.  What  is  it?" 

"That?"  she  queried.  "Oh,  that's  another  of  Milo's 
prides.  It's  an  Egyptian  fig.  'Ficus  Something-or- 


114         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

other.'  Isn't  it  beautiful?  But  it  isn't  a  century  old. 
It  isn't  more  than  fifteen  years  old.  It  grows  tremen- 
dously fast.  Milo  has  been  trying  to  interest  the  au- 
thorities in  Miami  in  planting  lines  of  them  for  shade 
trees  and  having  them  in  the  city  parks.  There's 
nothing  more  beautiful.  And  nothing,  except  the  Aus- 
tralian pine,  grows  faster.  .  .  .  There's  another  of 
Milo's  delights,"  she  continued,  pointing  to  the  left. 
"It's  ever  so  old.  The  natives  around  here  call  it  'The 
Ghost  Tree.'  " 

They  had  been  moving  in  a  wide  circle,  through  the 
groves.  Now,  approaching  the  house  from  the  other 
side,  they  came  out  on  a  grassy  little  space,  on  the 
far  edge  of  the  lawn.  In  the  center  of  the  space  stood 
a  giant  live-oak,  towering  as  high  as  a  royal  palm; 
and  with  mighty  boughs  stretching  out  in  vast  sym- 
metry on  every  side.  It  was  a  true  forest  monarch. 
And,  like  many  another  monarch,  it  was  only  a  ghost 
of  its  earlier  grandeur. 

For,  from  every  outflung  limb  and  from  every  tiniest 
twig,  hung  plumes  and  festoons  and  stalactites  of  gray 
moss.  For  perhaps  a  hundred  years  the  moss  had 
been  growing  thus,  on  the  giant  oak;  first  in  little 
bunches  and  trailers  that  were  scarce  noticeable  and 
which  affected  the  forest  monarch's  appearance  and 
health  not  at  all. 

Then,  year  by  year,  the  moss  had  grown  and  had 
taken  toll  of  the  bark  and  sap.  At  last  it  had  killed 
the  tree  on  which  it  fed.  And,  its  own  source  of  life 
being  withdrawn,  itself  had  died. 

So,  now,  the  gaunt  tree  with  its  symmetrical  spread 


STRANGER  FROM  NOWHERE    115 

of  branches,  stood  lifeless.  And  its  tons  of  low-hang- 
ing festooned  moss  was  as  void  of  life  as  was  the  tree 
they  had  killed.  Tinder-dry  it  hung  there;  a  beau- 
teous, tragic,  spectacle;  towering  high  above  the  sur- 
rounding flatness  of  landscape;  visible  for  miles,  by 
land  and  by  sea. 

Fifty  yards  beyond,  a  high  interlaced  hedge  of  vines 
bordered  the  clearing.  Toward  this,  Gavin  bent  his 
idle  steps;  wondering  vaguely  how  such  a  lofty  and 
impenetrable  wall  of  vine  was  supported  from  the  far 
side. 

Claire  had  stopped  to  call  off  Bobby  Burns,  who  had 
discovered  a  highly  dramatic  toad-hole  on  the  edge  of 
the  lawn  and  who  was  digging  enthusiastically  at  it 
with  both  flying  fore-feet;  casting  up  a  cloud  of  dirt 
and  cutting  into  the  sward's  neat  border.  Thus,  she  was 
not  aware  of  Brice's  diversion. 

Gavin  approached  the  twenty-foot  high  vine-wall; 
and  thrust  his  hand  in  through  the  thick  tangle  of 
leaves.  His  sensitive  fingers  touched  the  surface  of  a 
paling.  Running  his  hand  along,  he  found  that  the 
entire  vine  palisade  was,  apparently,  backed  by  a  twen- 
ty-foot stockade  of  solid  boards.  If  there  were  a  gate, 
it  was  hidden  from  view.  It  was  then  that  Claire, 
looking  up  from  luring  Bobby  Burns  away  from  the 
toad-hole,  saw  whither  Gavin  had  strayed. 

"Oh,"  she  called,  hurrying  toward  him.  "That's 
the  enclosure  Milo  made  years  ago,  for  his  experiments 
in  evolving  the  'perfect  orange'  he  is  so  daft  about. 
He's  always  afraid  some  other  grower  may  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  experiments.  So  he  keeps  that  little 


116         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

grove  walled  in.  He's  never  even  let  me  go  in  there. 
So " 

A  deafening  salvo  of  barks  from  Bobby  Burns  broke 
in  on  her  recital.  The  collie  had  caught  sight  of  Si- 
mon Cameron,  mincing  along  the  lawn;  and  he  gave 
rapturous  and  rackety  chase.  Claire  ran  after  them, 
crying  out  to  the  dog  to  desist  And  Gavin  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  brief  instant  when  her  back  was  turned 
to  him. 

His  fingers,  in  slipping  along  the  wall,  had  encoun- 
tered a  rotting  spot  at  the  juncture  of  two  palings. 
Pushing  sharply  against  this,  he  forced  a  fragment  of 
the  decayed  wood  inward.  Then,  quickly,  he  shoved 
aside  the  tangle  of  vines  and  applied  one  eye  to  the 
tiny  aperture. 

"A  secret  orange-grove,  eh?"  he  gasped,  under  his 
breath.  "Good  Lord!  Was  she  lying  to  me  or  did 
she  actually  believe  him  when  he  lied  to  her  ?" 


CHAPTER  V 
TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER 


CHAPTER  V 
TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER 

TO  south  and  to  southeast,  the  green-blue  trans- 
parent sea.  Within  sight  of  the  land,  the  purple- 
blue  Gulf  Stream; — a  mystic  warm  river  a  half  mile 
deep,  thousands  of  miles  long,  traveling  ever  at  a  speed 
of  eighty  miles  a  day  through  the  depth  of  the  ocean,  as 
distinct  and  as  unswerving  from  its  chosen  course  as 
though  it  flowed  through  land  instead  of  through  shift- 
ing water. 

Studded  in  the  milk-tepid  nearer  waters,  innumerable 
coral  islets  and  keys  and  ridges.  Then  the  coral-built 
tongue  of  land,  running  north  without  so  much  as  a 
respectably  large  hillock  to  break  its  flatness.  Along 
the  coast  the  tawny  beaches,  the  mangrove-swamps,  the 
rich  farms,  the  groves,  the  towns,  the  villages,  the  es- 
tates; snow-white  Miami,  the  nation's  southernmost 
big  city. 

Back  of  this  foreshore,  countless  miles  of  waving 
grass,  rooted  in  water;  and  with  a  stray  clump  of  low 
trees,  dotted  here  and  there; — the  Everglades,  a  vast 
marsh  that  runs  north,  to  the  inland  sea  known  as  Lake 
Okeechobee.  Then  the  solid  sandy  ground  of  the 
main  State. 

Along  the  foreshore,  and  running  inland,  miles  of 

119 


120         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

sand-barren,  scattered  with  gaunt  pines  and  floored 
with  harsh  palmetto-scrub.  Strewn  here  and  there, 
through  this  sandy  expanse,  lovely  oases,  locally  known 
as  "hammocks" ;  usually  in  hollows ;  and  consisting  of 
several  acres  of  rich  soil,  where  tropic  and  sub-tropic 
trees  grow  as  luxuriantly  as  in  a  jungle;  where  un- 
dergrowth and  vine  run  riot;  where  orchid  and  air- 
plant  and  wondrous-hued  flowers  blaze  through  the 
green  gloom  of  interlaced  foliage. 

This,  roughly,  is  a  bird's-eye  glimpse  of  the  south- 
eastern stretch  of  Florida;  a  region  of  glory  and 
glow  and  fortunes  and  mystery.  (Which  is  perhaps 
a  momentary  digression  from  our  story ;  but  will  serve, 
for  all  that,  to  fix  its  setting  more  vividly  in  the  eyes 
of  the  mind.) 

When  Milo  Standish  came  back  from  Miami,  that 
noon,  he  professed  much  loud-voiced  joy  at  seeing  his 
guest  so  well  recovered  from  the  night's  mishaps.  At 
lunch,  he  suggested: 

"I  am  running  across  to  Roustabout  Key,  this  after- 
noon, in  the  launch.  It's  an  island  I  bought,  a  few 
years  ago.  I  keep  a  handful  of  men  there,  to  work  a 
grapefruit  grove  and  a  mango  orchard  and  some  other 
stuff  I've  planted.  I  go  over  to  it,  every  week  or  so. 
Would  you  care  to  come  along?" 

He  spoke  with  elaborate  carelessness;  and  looked 
anywhere  except  at  his  guest.  Gavin,  not  appearing 
to  note  the  concealed  nervousness  of  his  host's  voice 
and  manner,  gave  eager  consent.  And,  at  two  o'clock, 
they  set  forth. 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          121 

They  drove,  in  Milo's  car,  a  half-mile  or  more  to 
southwestward,  along  the  road  which  fronted  the  house. 
Then,  turning  into  a  sand  byway  which  ran  crookedly 
at  right  angles  to  it,  and  which  skirted  the  southern  end 
of  the  mangrove-swamp,  they  headed  for  the  sea.  An- 
other half-mile  brought  them  to  a  handkerchief -sized 
beach;  much  like  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  swamp, 
where  Gavin  had  found  the  hidden  path.  Here,  on 
mangrove-wood  piles,  was  a  short  pier,  with  a  boat- 
house  at  its  far  end. 

"I  keep  my  launch  and  my  fishing-boats  in  there," 
explained  Milo,  as  he  climbed  out  of  the  car.  "If  it 
wasn't  for  that  pesky  swamp,  I  could  have  had  this 
pier  directly  back  of  my  house ;  and  saved  a  lot  of  dis- 
tance." 

"Why  not  cut  a  road  through  the  swamp?"  sug- 
gested Brice,  following  him  along  the  pier. 

Again  Standish  gave  vent  to  that  great  laugh  of 
his; — a  laugh  outwardly  jovial;  but  as  hollow  as  a 
shell. 

"Young  man,"  said  he,  "if  ever  you  try  to  cut  your 
way  through  an  East  Coast  mangrove-swamp,  you'll 
find  out  just  how  silly  that  question  is.  A  swamp,  like 
that,  might  as  well  be  a  quick-sand ;  for  all  the  chance 
a  mortal  has  of  traveling  through  it." 

Gavin  made  no  reply.  Again,  he  was  visualizing  the 
cleverly  engineered  path  from  the  beach-edge  to  Milo's 
lawn.  And  he  recalled  Claire's  unspoken  plea  that  he 
say  nothing  to  Standish  about  his  chance  discovery  of 
it  He  remembered,  too,  the  night-song  of  the  mock- 


122         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

ing-bird,  from  the  direction  of  that  path;  and  the  ad- 
vent of  Rodney  Hade  from  it. 

Milo  had  unlocked  the  boat-house;  and  was  at  work 
over  a  fifteen-foot  steel  motorboat  which  was  slung 
on  chains  above  the  water.  A  winch  and  well-con- 
structed pulleys-and-chains  made  simple  the  labor  of 
launching  it  in  so  quiet  a  sea. 

Out  they  fared,  into  the  gleaming  sunlit  waters  of 
the  bay.  Far  to  eastward  gleamed  the  white  city  of 
Miami ;  and  nearer,  across  the  bay  from  it,  the  emerald 
stretch  of  key,  with  Cape  Florida  and  the  old  Span- 
ish Light  on  its  southern  point  and  the  exquisite  "gol- 
den house"  of  Mashta  shining  midway  down  its  shore- 
line. Miles  to  eastward  gleamed  the  gray  viaduct; 
the  grain  elevator  outlines  of  the  Flamingo  rising  yel- 
low above  a  fire-blue  sea. 

"I  used  to  hear  great  stories  about  this  region,  years 
ago,"  volunteered  Brice,  as  the  launch  danced  over  the 
transparent  water,  past  Ragged  Keys,  and  bore  south- 
ward. "I  heard  them  from  a  chap  who  used  to  win- 
ter hereabouts.  It  was  he  who  first  interested  me  in 
Florida.  He  says  these  keys  and  inlets  and  changing 
channels  used  to  be  the  haunts  of  Spanish  Main 
pirates." 

"They  were,"  said  Milo.  "The  pirates  knew  these 
waters.  The  average  merchant  skipper  didn't.  They'd 
build  signal  flares  on  the  keys,  to  lure  ships  onto  the 
rocks;  and  then  loot  them.  At  least,  that  was  the 
everyday  (or  everynight)  amusement  of  their  less  ven- 
turesome members  and  their  women  and  children.  The 
more  adventurous  used  to  overhaul  vessels,  skirting  the 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          123 

coast,  to  and  from  Cuba  and  Central  America.  They'd 
sally  out  from  their  hiding-places  among  the  keys  and 
lie  in  wait  for  the  merchant-ships.  If  the  prey  was 
weak  enough  they'd  board  and  ransack  her  and  make 
her  crew  walk  the  plank; — (that's  how  Aaron  Burr's 
beautiful  daughter  is  supposed  to  have  died,  on  her 
way  North,  you  know;) — and  if  the  ship  showed  fight 
or  seemed  too  tough  a  handful,  the  pirates  hit  on  a 
surer  way  of  capture.  They'd  turn  tail  and  run.  The 
merchant  ship  would  give  chase;  for  there  were  fat 
rewards  out  for  the  capture  of  the  sea  rovers,  you 
know.  The  pirates  would  head  for  some  strip  of  water 
that  seemed  perfectly  navigable.  The  ship  would  fol- 
low; and  would  pile  up  on  a  sunken  reef  that  the 
pirates  had  just  steered  around." 

"Clever  work!" 

"They  were  a  thrifty  and  shrewd  crowd,  those  old- 
time  black-flaggers.  After  they  were  wiped  out,  the 
wreckers  still  reaped  their  fine  harvest  by  signaling 
ships  onto  reefs  at  night.  Their  descendants  live  down 
among  some  of  the  keys,  still.  We  call  them  'conchs/ 
around  here.  They're  an  illiterate,  uncivilized,  furtive, 
eccentric  lot.  And  they  pick  up  some  sort  of  living 
off  wrecked  ships  and  off  what  cargo  washes  ashore 
from  the  wrecks.  A  missionary  went  down  there  and 
tried  to  convert  them.  He  found  the  'conch'  children 
already  had  religion  enough  to  pray,  every  night,  'Lord, 
send  a  wreck!'  The  conchs  gather  a  lot  of  plun- 
der, every  year.  They " 

"Do  they  sell  it,  or  claim  salvage  on  it,  or ?" 

"Not  they.     That  would  call  for  too  much  brain 


124         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

and  education  and  for  mixing  with  civilization,  They 
wear  it,  or  put  it  to  any  crazy  use  they  can  think  of. 
For  instance,  fifty  sewing-machines  were  in  the  cargo 
of  a  tramp  steamer,  bound  from  Charleston  to  Brazil, 
one  winter.  She  ran  ashore,  a  few  miles  south  of 
here.  The  conchs  got  busy  with  the  plunder.  The 
cargo  was  a  veritable  godsend  to  them.  They  used 
the  sewing  machines  as  anchors  for  their  boats.  An- 
other time,  a  box  of  shoes  washed  ashore.  They  were 
left-hand  shoes,  all  of  them.  The  right-hand  box 
must  have  landed  somewhere  else.  And  a  hundred 
conchs  blossomed  forth  with  brand  new  shoes.  They 
could  wear  the  left  shoe,  of  course;  with  no  special 
bother.  And  they  slit  down  the  vamp  of  the  shoe  they 
put  on  the  right  foot ;  so  their  toes  could  stick  out  and 
not  be  cramped.  A  good  many  people  think  they  still 
lure  ships  ashore,  by  flares.  But  the  lighthouse  service 
has  pretty  well  put  a  stop  to  that.'* 

"This  chap  I  was  speaking  about, — the  fellow  who 
told  me  so  much  about  this  region,"  said  Gavin,  "told 
me  there  is  supposed  to  be  pirate  gold  buried  in  more 
than  one  of  these  keys." 

"Rot !"  snorted  Milo,  with  needless  vehemence,  "All 
poppycock!  Look  at  it,  sanely,  for  a  minute;  and 
you'll  see  that  all  the  yarns  of  pirate  gold — including 
Captain  Kidd's — are  rank  idiocy.  In  the  first  place,  the 
pirates  never  seized  any  such  fabulous  sums  of  money 
as  they  were  credited  with.  The  bullion  ships  always 
went  under  heavy  man-o'-war  escort.  When  pirates 
looted  some  fairly  rich  merchant  ship,  there  were 
dozens  of  men  to  divide  the  plunder  among.  And  they 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          125 

sailed  to  the  nearest  safe  port,  to  blow  it  all  on  an 
orgy.  Of  course,  once  in  a  blue  moon,  they  buried 
or  hid  the  valuables  they  got  from  one  ship,  while 
they  went  after  another.  And  if  they  chanced  to  sink, 
or  be  captured  and  hanged,  during  such  a  raid,  the 
treasure  remained  hidden.  If  they  survived,  they 
blew  it.  That's  the  one  off-chance  of  there  ever  being 
any  buried  pirate  treasure.  And  there  would  be  pre- 
cious little  of  it,  at  that.  A  few  hundred  dollars  worth, 
at  most.  No,  Brice,  this  everlasting  legend  of  buried 
treasure  is  fine,  in  a  sea-yarn.  But  in  real  life  it's 
buncombe." 

"But  this  same  man  told  me  there  were  stories  of 
bullion  ships  and  even  more  modern  vessels  carrying  a 
money  cargo,  that  sank  in  these  waters,  during  storms 
or  from  running  into  reefs,"  pursued  Brice,  with  no 
great  show  of  interest;  as  he  leaned  far  overside  for 
a  second  glimpse  at  a  school  of  five- foot  baracuda 
which  lay  basking  on  the  snowy  surface  of  the  sand, 
two  fathoms  below  the  boat.  "That,  at  least,  sounds 
probable,  doesn't  it?" 

"No,"  snapped  Milo,  flushing  angrily,  and  his  brow 
creasing,  "it  doesn't.  These  water  are  traversed,  every 
year  by  thousands  of  craft  of  all  sizes.  The  water  is 
crystal  clear.  Any  wrecked  ship  could  be  seen  at  the 
bottom.  Why,  everybody  has  seen  the  hull  of  that  old 
tramp  steamer,  a  few  miles  above  here.  It's  in  deep 
water,  at  that.  What  chance ?" 

"Yet  there  are  hundreds  of  such  stories  afloat,"  per- 
sisted Brice.  "And  there  are  more  yarns  of  buried 
treasure  among  the  keys  than  there  are  keys.  For  in- 


126          BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

stance,  didn't  old  Caesar,  the  negro  pirate,  hang  out 
here,  somewhere?" 

Milo  laughed  again;  this  time  with  a  maddening 
tolerance. 

"Oh,  Caesar?"  said  he.  "To  be  sure.  He's  as  much 
a  legend  of  these  keys  as  Lafitte  is  of  New  Orleans. 
He  was  an  escaped  slave;  who  scraped  together  a 
dozen  fellow-ruffians,  black  and  white  and  yellow — 
mostly  yellow — about  a  century  ago ;  and  stole  a  long- 
boat or  a  broken-down  sloop;  and  started  in  at  the 
trade  of  pirate.  He  didn't  last  long.  And  there's  no 
proof  he  ever  had  any  special  success.  But  he's  the 
sea-hero  of  the  conchs.  They've  named  a  key  and  a 
so-called  creek  after  him;  and  in  my  father's  time, 
there  used  to  be  an  old  iron  ring  in  a  bowlder,  known 
as  'Caesar's  Rock.'  The  ring  was  probably  put  there 
by  oystermen.  But  the  conchs  insisted  Caesar  used 
to  tie  up  there.  Then  there's  the  'Pirates'  Punchbowl/ 
off  Coconut  Grove.  Caesar  is  supposed  to  have  dug 
that.  He " 

An  enormous  sailfish — dazzlingly  metallic  blue  and 
silver — broke  from  the  calm  water,  just  ahead;  and 
whirled  high  in  air;  smiting  the  bay  again  with  a 
splash  that  sounded  like  a  gunshot. 

"That  fellow  must  have  been  close  to  seven  feet 
long,"  commented  Milo,  as  the  two  men  watched  the 
churned  water  where  the  fish  had  struck.  "He's  the 
kind  you  see,  when  you  aren't  trolling.  He's  after  a 
school  of  bally hoos  or  mossbunkers.  .  .  .  There's 
Roustabout  Key.  Just  ahead,"  he  finished,  as  their 
launch  rounded  an  outcrop  of  rock  and  came  in  view 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          127 

of  a  mile-long  wooded  island  a  bare  thousand  yards  off 
the  weather  bow.  ' 

A  mangrove  fringe  covered  the  shoreline,  two  thirds 
of  the  way  around  the  key.  At  the  eastern  end  was  a 
strip  of  snowy  beach,  backed  by  an  irregular  line  of 
coconut  palms;  and  with  a  very  respectable  dock  in 
the  foreground.  From  the  pier,  a  wooden  path  led 
upward,  through  the  scattering  double  row  of  palms,  to 
a  corrugated  iron  hut,  with  smaller  huts  and  outbuild- 
ings half  seen  through  the  foliage-vistas  beyond. 

"I've  some  fairly  good  mango  trees,  back  yonder," 
said  Standish,  as  he  brought  the  launch  alongside  the 
dock's  wabbly  float ;  "and  grapefruit  that  is  paying  big 
dividends,  at  last.  The  mangoes  won't  be  ripe  till 
June,  of  course.  But  they're  sold,  already;  to  the 
last  half-bushel  of  them." 

"  'Futures,'  eh?"  suggested  Gavin, 

"  'Futures,' "  assented  Milo.  "And  'futures'  in 
farming,  are  just  about  as  certain  as  in  Wall  Street 
There's  a  mighty  gamble  to  this  farm-game." 

"How  long  have ?"  began  Gavin;  then  stopped 

short,  and  stared. 

One  or  two  negro  laborers  had  drifted  down  toward 
the  dock;  as  the  boat  warped  in  at  the  float.  Now, 
from  the  corrugated  iron  hut  appeared  a  white  man; 
who,  at  sight  of  the  boat,  broke  into  a  limping  run, 
and  was  in  time  to  catch  the  line  which  Milo  flung  at 
him. 

The  man  was  sparsely  and  sketchily  clad.  At  first, 
his  tanned  face  seemed  to  be  of  several  different  colors 
and  to  have  been  modeled  by  some  bungling  carica- 


128         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

turist.  Yet,  despite  this  eccentricity  of  aspect,  some- 
thing about  the  obsequiously  hurrying  man  struck 
Brice  as  familiar.  And,  all  at  once,  he  recognized  him. 

This  was  the  big  beach  comber  with  whom  Gavin  had 
fought,  barely  twenty-four  hours  earlier.  The  man 
bore  bruises  and  swellings  a-plenty,  on  his  rugged  fea- 
tures; where  Brice's  whalebone  blows  had  crashed. 
And  they  had  distorted  his  face  almost  past  recogni- 
tion. He  moved,  too,  with  manifest  discomfort;  as  if 
all  his  huge  body  were  as  sore  as  his  visage. 

"Hello,  Roke!"  hailed  Milo,  genially;  then,  in  amaze, 
"what  in  thunder  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself? 
Been  trying  to  stop  the  East  Coast  Flyer?  Or  did 
you  just  get  into  an  argument  with  one  of  the  channel 
dredges  ?" 

"Fell,"  said  Roke,  succinctly,  jerking  his  thumb  back 
toward  the  corrugated  iron  hut.  "Climbed  my  roof 
to  mend  a  leak.  Fell.  My  face  hit  every  bump.  Then 

I  landed  on  a  pile  of  coconuts.  I'm  sore  all  over. 
j » 

He  gurgled,  mouthingly ;  as  his  swollen  eyes  chanced 
to  light  on  Gavin  Brice,  who  was  just  following  Milo 
from  the  launch  to  the  float.  And  his  discolored  and 
unshaven  jaw  went  slack. 

"Oh,  Brice,"  said  Standish,  carelessly.  "This  is  my 
foreman  here; — Perry  Roke.  As  a  rule  he  looks  like 
other  people;  except  that  he's  bigger.  Just  now,  his 
cravings  for  falling  off  corrugated  roofs  have  done 
things  to  his  face.  Shake  hands  with  him.  If  you  like 
the  job  I'm  going  to  offer  you,  he  and  you  will  be  side- 
partners  over  here/' 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          129 

Gavin  faced  his  recent  adversary ;  grinning  pleasantly 
up  at  the  battered  and  scowling  face;  and  noting  that 
the  knife-sheath  at  Roke's  hip  was  still  empty. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  civilly,  offering  his  hand. 

Roke  gulped,  again;  went  purple;  and,  with  sud- 
den furious  vehemence,  grabbed  at  the  proffered  hand ; 
enfolding  it  in  his  own  monstrous  grip  in  an  industri- 
ous attempt  to  smash  its  every  bone. 

But,  reading  the  intent  with  perfect  ease,  Brice 
shifted  his  own  hand,  ever  so  little  and,  with  nimbly 
practised  fingers,  eluded  the  crushing  clasp;  at  the 
same  time  slipping  his  thumb  over  the  heel  of  Roke's 
clutching  right  hand  and  letting  his  three  middle 
fingers  meet  at  the  exact  center  of  that  hand's  back. 
Then,  tightening  his  hold,  he  gave  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible twist.  It  was  one  of  the  first  and  the  simplest 
of  the  tricks  his  jiu-jitsu  instructor  had  taught  him. 
And,  as  ever  with  an  opponent  not  prepared  for  it, 
the  grip  served. 

To  the  heedlessly  watching  Standish,  he  seemed 
merely  to  be  accepting  the  invitation  to  shake  hands 
with  Roke.  But,  the  next  instant,  under  the  apparently 
harmless  contact,  Roke's  big  body  veered  sharply  to 
one  side,  from  the  hips  upward;  and  a  bellow  of  rag- 
ing pain  broke  from  his  puffed  lips. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !"  cried  Brice  in  quick  con- 
trition. "You  must  have  hurt  your  hand,  when  you 
fell  off  that  roof.  I'm  sorry  if  I  made  it  worse." 

Nursing  his  wrenched  wrist,  Roke  glowered  hide- 
ously at  the  smiling  Gavin.  Brice  could  feel  no  com- 
punction for  his  own  behavior.  For  he  remembered 


130         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

the  hurled  knife  and  the  brutal  kicking  of  the  dog. 
Yet,  he  repented  him  of  the  hand-twisting  trick.  For, 
if  he  and  Roke  were  expected  to  work  together,  as  Milo 
had  said,  he  had  certainly  made  a  most  unfortunate 
beginning  to  their  acquaintanceship;  and  just  now  he 
had  added  new  and  painful  aggravation  to  his  earlier 
offense. 

Milo  was  surveying  the  sufferer  with  no  great  pity; 
as  Roke  bent  over  his  hurt  wrist. 

"Too  bad!"  commented  Standish.  "I  suppose  that 
will  put  a  crimp  in  your  violin-playing  for  a  while." 

Turning  to  Gavin,  who  looked  in  new  surprise  at 
the  giant  on  hearing  of  this  unexpected  accomplish- 
ment, Milo  explained : 

"I  hired  Roke  to  run  this  key  for  me  and  keep  the 
conchs  and  the  coons  at  work.  But  I've  got  a  pretty 
straight  tip  that,  as  soon  as  my  back  is  turned,  he  cuts 
indoors  and  spends  most  of  his  day  whanging  at  that 
disreputable  old  violin  of  his.  And  when  Rodney 
Hade  conies  over  here,  I  can't  get  a  lick  of  work  out 
of  Roke,  for  love  or  money.  Hade  is  one  of  the  best 
amateur  violinists  in  America ;  and  he's  daft  on  playing. 
He  drops  in  here,  every  now  and  then — he  has  an  in- 
terest with  me  in  the  groves — and  as  soon  as  he 
catches  sight  of  Roke's  violin,  he  starts  playing  it. 
That  means  no  more  work  out  of  Roke,  till  Hade 
chooses  to  stop.  He  just  stands,  with  his  mouth  wide 
open; — hypnotized.  Can't  drag  him  away,  for  a 
second.  Hey,  Roke?" 

Roke  had  ceased  nursing  his  wrist  and  had  listened 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          131 

with  sheepish  amusement  to  his  employer's  guying. 
But  at  this  question,  he  made  answer: 

"I'm  here,  now." 

He  jerked  the  thumb  of  his  uninjured  hand  toward 
a  spic-and-span  launch  which  lay  moored  between  two 
sodden  scows ;  and  then  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the 
corrugated  iron  hut,  among  the  trees. 

Listening — though  the  wind  set  the  wrong  way  for 
it — Brice  could  hear  faintly  the  strains  of  a  violin, 
played  ever  so  softly  and  with  a  golden  wealth  of 
sweetness.  Even  at  that  distance,  by  listening  closely, 
he  could  make  out  a  phrase  or  so  of  Dvorak's  "Hiar- 
watka?'  music  from  the  "New  World  Symphony." 
Milo's  loud  laugh  broke  in  on  his  audition  and  on  the 
suddenly  rapt  look  upon  Roke's  bruised  face. 

"Come  along!"  said  Standish,  leading  the  way 
toward  the  house.  "Music's  a  fine  thing,  I'm  told. 
But  it  doesn't  spray  a  grapefruit  orchard  or  keep 
the  scale  off  of  mango  trees.  Come  up  to  the  house. 
I  want  to  show  you  over  the  island  and  have  a  chat 
with  you  about  the  job  I  have  in  mind." 

As  Milo  strode  on,  the  two  others  fell  in  step  be- 
hind him.  Brice  lowered  his  voice  and  said  to  the 
sulking  Roke: 

"That  collie  belongs  to  Mr.  Standish.  I  did  you  a 
good  turn,  it  seems,  by  keeping  you  from  stealing  him. 
You'd  have  been  in  a  worse  fix  than  you  are,  now; 
if  Mr.  Standish  had  come  over  here  to-day  and  found 
him  on  the  island." 

Roke  did  not  deign  to  reply ;  but  moved  a  little  far- 
ther from  the  speaker. 


132         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

"At  this  rate,"  said  Brice,  pleasantly,  "you  and  I  are 
likely  to  have  a  jolly  time,  together;  out  here.  I  can't 
imagine  a  merrier  chum,  for  a  desert  island  visit.  I 
only  hope  I  won't  neglect  my  work,  chatting  with  you 
all  day." 

Roke  eyed  him,  obliquely,  as  he  plodded  on ;  and  his 
battered  lip-corner  lifted  a  little  in  what  looked  like 
a  beast  snarl.  But  he  said  nothing. 

Then,  they  were  at  the  shallow  porch  of  the  hut; 
and  Milo  Standish  had  thrown  open  its  iron  door,  let- 
ting out  a  gush  of  golden  melody  from  the  violin.  At 
his  hail,  the  music  ceased.  And  Rodney  Hade,  fiddle 
in  hand,  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"You're  late,"  said  the  violinist,  speaking  to  Milo 
with  that  ever-smiling  suavity  which  Gavin  recalled 
from  the  night  before;  and  ignoring  Gavin,  entirely. 
"You've  kept  me  waiting." 

Despite  the  smooth  voice  and  the  eternal  smile,  there 
was  an  undernote  of  rebuke  in  the  words;  as  of  a 
teacher  who  reproves  a  child  for  tardiness.  And, 
meekly,  Standish  replied: 

"I'm  sorry.  I  was  detained  at  Miami.  And  lunch 
was  late.  I  got  here  as  soon  as  I  could.  I " 

With  an  impatient  little  wave  of  one  white  hand, 
Hade  checked  his  excuses  and  dismissed  the  subject. 
In  the  same  moment,  his  snakelike  black  eyes  fixed 
themselves  on  Brice,  whom  he  seemed  to  notice  for 
the  first  time.  The  eyes  were  smiling.  But  he  granted 
the  guest  no  further  form  of  salutation;  as  he  asked 
abruptly : 

"Where  have  I  seen  you  before?" 

1 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          133 

"You  saw  me,  last  night,"  returned  Gavin,  still  won- 
dering at  this  man's  dictatorial  attitude  toward  the  ag- 
gressive Milo  Standish,  and  at  Milo's  almost  cringing 
acceptance  of  it.  "I  was  at  the  Standishes,  I  was 
just  starting  for  bed  when  you  dropped  in.  Miss 
Standish  introduced " 

"I'm  not  speaking  about  last  night,"  curtly  inter- 
rupted Hade ;  though  his  voice  was  as  soft  as  ever  and 
his  masklike  face  was  set  in  its  everlasting  smile.  "I 
mean,  where  did  I  run  across  you,  before  last  night?" 

"Well,  Mr.  Bones,"  answered  Gavin,  with  flippant 
insolence.  "Dat  am  de  question  propounded.  .Where 
did  you-all  run  acrost  me,  befo'  las'  night?" 

Milo  and  Roke  stirred  convulsively;  as  if  scandal- 
ized that  any  one  should  dare  speak  with  such  impu- 
dence to  Hade.  Rodney  himself  all  but  lost  the  eternal 
smile  from  his  thin  lips :  and  his  voice  was  less  suave 
than  usual  as  he  said: 

"I  don't  care  for  impertinence; — especially  from  em- 
ployees. You  will  bear  that  in  mind.  Now,  you  will 
answer  my  question.  Where  did  I  see  you?" 

"If  you  can't  remember,"  countered  Gavin,  "you  can 
hardly  expect  me  to.  I  live  in  New  York.  I  have 
lived  there  or  thereabouts  for  a  number  of  years.  I 
was  overseas — stationed  at  Bordeaux  and  then  at 
Brest — for  a  few  months  in  1918.  As  a  boy  I  lived 
on  my  father's  farm  in  northern  New  York  State; — 
near  Manlius.  That's  the  best  answer  I  can  give  you. 
If  it  will  make  you  recall  where  you've  seen  me — all 
right.  If  not,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  help  you  out.  In 
any  case,  what  does  it  matter?  I  don't  claim  to  be 


134         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

anybody  especial.  I  have  no  references.  Mr.  Standish 
knows  that.  If  he's  willing  to  give  me  some  sort  of  job 
in  spite  of  such  drawbacks,  it  seems  to  be  entirely  his 
affair." 

"The  job  I  had — have — in  mind  for  you,"  spoke  up 
Milo,  at  a  glance  from  Hade,  "is  on  this  key,  here. 
I  need  an  extra  man  in  the  main  storehouse ;  to  oversee 
the  roustabouts  there.  At  this  season,  Roke  is  too  busy 
outdoors  to  keep  the  right  kind  of  eye  on  them.  The 
pay  won't  be  large,  to  start  with.  But,  if  you  make 
good  at  it,  I  may  have  something  better  to  offer  you,  on 
the  mainland.  Or  I  may  not.  In  any  case,  I  under- 
stand this  is  only  a  stopgap,  for  you ;  and  that  you  are 
down  here  for  your  health.  If  you  are  interested  in 
the  idea,  well  and  good.  If  not " 

He  paused  and  glanced  at  Hade  as  if  for  prompting. 
Throughout  his  harangue,  Standish  had  given  Brice 
the  impression  of  a  man  who  recites  a  lesson  taught 
him  by  another.  Now  Hade  took  up  the  tale. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  smilingly — his  momentary  impa- 
tience gone — "I  think,  before  answering — in  fact  be- 
fore coming  down  to  terms  and  other  details — you 
might  perhaps  care  to  stroll  around  the  island  a  little ; 
and  get  an  idea  of  it  for  yourself.  It  may  be  you 
won't  care  to  stay  here.  It  may  be  you  will  like  it 
very  much.  Mr.  Standish  and  I  have  some  routine 
business  to  talk  over  with  Roke.  Suppose  you  take 
a  walk  over  the  place?  Roke,  assign  one  of  the  men 
to  go  with  him  and  show  him  around." 

With  instant  obedience,  Roke  started  for  the  door. 
Indeed,  he  had  almost  reached  it,  before  Hade  ceased 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          135 

speaking.  Gavin  raised  his  brows  at  this  swift  antici- 
pation of  orders.  And,  into  his  mind  came  an  odd 
thought. 

"You  seemed  surprised  to  see  me,  this  afternoon," 
said  he  as  he  followed  Roke  to  the  porch  and  closed  the 
door  behind  them.  "Yet  Mr.  Hade  had  told  you  I 
was  coming  here.  He  had  told  you;  and  he  had  told 
you  to  'have  some  one  ready  to  show  me  over  the 
island." 

As  he  spoke,  Gavin  indicated  with  a  nod  a  man  who 
was  trotting  across  the  sandy  clearing  toward  them. 

"Didn't  know  it  was  you!"  grunted  Roke,  too  sur- 
prised by  the  direct  assertion,  to  fence.  "Said  some 

feller  would  come  with  Mr.  Standish.  He .  How'd 

you  know  he  told  me?"  he  demanded  in  sudden  angry 
bewilderment. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Gavin,  admiringly.  "I  knew 
we'd  chat  along  as  lovingly  as  two  turtle-doves,  when 
once  we'd  get  really  started.  You're  quite  a  talker, 
when  you  want  to  be,  Rokie  my  lad!  If  only  you 
didn't  speak  as  if  you  were  trying  to  save  words  on 
a  telegram.  Here's  the  chap  you'd  ordered  to  be  cruis- 
ing in  the  offing  as  my  escort,  eh?"  as  the  barefoot 
roustabout  reached  the  porch.  "All  right.  Good-by." 

Leaving  the  grumbling  and  muttering  Roke  scowling 
after  him,  Brice  stepped  out  onto  the  sand  to  meet 
the  newcomer.  The  roustabout,  apparently,  belonged 
to  the  conch  tribe  of  which  Milo  had  spoken.  Thin, 
undersized,  swarthy,  with  features  that  showed  a  trace 
of  negro  and  perhaps  of  Indian  blood  as  well,  he  had 
a  furtive  manner  and  seemed  to  cringe  away  from  the 


136         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

Northerner ;  as  they  set  off  across  the  clearing,  toward 
the  distant  huts  and  still  more  distant  orchards. 

He  was  bareheaded  and  stoop-shouldered.  Beyond  a 
ragged  pair  of  drill  trousers — indescribably  dirty — his 
only  garment  was  a  still  dirtier  and  raggeder  under- 
shirt. His  naked  feet  flapped  awkwardly,  like  a 
turtle's.  He  was  not  a  pretty  or  prepossessing  sight. 

Across  the  clearing  he  pattered,  head  down,  still 
cringing  away  from  the  visitor.  As  the  two  entered 
the  shadows  of  the  nearest  grove,  Gavin  Brice  glanced 
quickly  around  him  on  all  sides.  The  conch  did  the 
same.  Then  the  two  moved  on,  with  the  same  dis- 
tance between  them  as  before. 

And,  as  they  went,  Gavin  spoke.  He  spoke  in  a  low 
tone,  not  moving  his  lips  or  looking  directly  toward 
the  other  man. 

"Good  boy,  Davy!"  he  said,  approvingly.  "How 
did  you  get  the  job  of  taking  me  around?  I  was 
afraid  I'd  have  to  look  for  you." 

"Two  other  men  were  picked  out  to  do  it,  sir,"  said 
the  conch,  without  slackening  his  pace  or  turning  his 
head.  "One  after  the  other.  One  was  a  nigger.  One 
was  a  conch.  Both  of  'em  got  sick.  I  paid  'em  to. 
And  I  paid  the  nigger  an  extra  five,  to  tell  Roke  7'd  be 
the  best  man  to  steer  you.  He  said  he'd  been  on  jobs 
with  me  before.  He  and  the  conch  are  malingering  in 
the  sick  shed.  Ipecac.  I  gave  it  to  'em." 

"Good!"  repeated  Gavin.  "Mighty  good.  Now, 
what's  the  idea?" 

"You're  to  be  kept  over  here,  sir,"  said  the  conch. 
"I  don't  know  why.  Roke  told  me  you're  a  chum  of 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          137 

Hade's ;  and  that  Hade's  doing  it  to  have  a  bit  of  fun 
with  you.  So  I'm  to  lead  you  around  awhile ;  showing 
you  the  plant  and  such.  Then  I'm  to  take  you  to  the 
second  storage  hut  and  tell  you  we've  got  a  new  kind 
of  avocado  stored  in  there ;  and  let  you  go  in  ahead  of 
me ;  and  I'm  to  slam  the  spring-lock  door  on  you." 

"H'm!    That  all,  Davy?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Except  of  course  that  it's  a  lie.  Hade 
don't  play  jokes  or  have  fun  with  any  one.  If  he's 
trying  to  keep  you  locked  up  here  a  while,  it's  most 
likely  a  sign  he  don't  want  you  on  the  mainland,  for 
some  reason.  Maybe  that  sounds  foolish.  But  it's 
all  the  head  or  tail  I  can  make  out  of  it,  sir." 

"It  doesn't  'sound  foolish,' "  contradicted  Brice. 
"As  it  happens,  it's  just  what  he  wants  to  do.  I  don't 
know  just  why.  But  I  mean  to  find  out.  He  wants  me 
away  from  a  house  over  there.  A  house  I  had  a  lot 
of  trouble  in  getting  a  foothold  in.  It's  taken  me  the 
best  part  of  a  month.  And,  now  I  don't  mean  to  spend 
another  month  in  getting  back  there." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Davy,  respectfully ;  still  plodding  on, 
in  front,  and  with  head  and  shoulders  bent.  "No,  sir. 
Of  course.  But — if  you'll  let  me  ask,  sir— does  Hade 
know?  Does  he  suspicion  you?  If  that's  why  he's 
framed  this,  then  Roustabout  Key  is  no  place  for  you. 
No  more  is  Dade  County.  He " 

"No,"  returned  Gavin,  smiling  at  the  real  terror  that 
had  crept  into  the  other's  tone.  "He  doesn't  know. 
And  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  suspect.  But  he  has  a  no- 
tion he's  seen  me,  somewhere.  And  he's  a  man  who 
doesn't  take  chances.  Besides,  he  wants  me  away 


138         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

from  the  Standish  house.  He  wants  every  outsider 
away  from  it.  And  I  knew  this  would  be  the  likeliest 
place  for  him  to  maroon  me.  That's  why  I  sent  you 
word.  .  .  .  I'm  a  bit  wobbly  in  my  beliefs  about  the 
Standishes ; — one  of  them,  anyhow.  Now,  where's  this 
storehouse  prison  of  mine?" 

"Over  there,  sir,  to  the  right.    But " 

"Take  me  over  there.  And  walk  slowly.  I've  some 
things  to  say  to  you,  on  the  way;  and  I  want  you  to 
get  them  straight,  in  your  memory." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  conch ;  shifting  his  course, 
so  as  to  bring  his  steps  in  a  roundabout  way  toward 
the  squat  storeroom.  "And,  before  you  begin,  there's 
an  extra  key  to  the  room,  under  the  second  packing 
box  to  the  right.  I  made  it  from  Roke's  own  key, 
when  I  made  duplicates  of  all  the  keys  here.  I  put  it 
there  this  morning.  In  case  you  should  want  to  get 
out,  you  can  say  you  found  it  lying  on  the  floor  there. 
I  rusted  all  the  keys  I  made,  so  they  look  old.  He'll 
likely  think  it's  an  extra  key  that  was  lost  somewhere 
in  there." 

"Thanks,"  said  Gavin.  "You're  a  good  boy.  And 
you've  got  sense.  Now  listen : — " 

Talking  swiftly  and  earnestly,  he  followed  Davy 
toward  the  square  little  iron  building;  the  conch  out- 
wardly making  no  sign  that  he  heard.  For,  not  many 
yards  away,  a  handful  of  conchs  and  negroes  were  at 
work  on  a  half -completed  shed. 

Davy  came  to  the  store-room  door;  and  opened 
it.  Then,  turning  to  Brice,  he  said  aloud,  in  the 
wretched  dialect  of  his  class : 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          139 

"Funny  avocado  fruits  all  pile  up  in  yon.  Mighty 
funny.  Make  yo'  laugh.  Want  to  go  see?  Look!" 

He  swung  wide  the  iron  door  and  pointed  to  the  al- 
most totally  dark  interior. 

"Funny  to  see,  in  yon,"  he  said  invitingly.  "Never 
see  any  like  'em,  befo'.  I  strike  light  for  you.  Arter 
you,  my  boss." 

One  or  two  men  working  on  the  nearby  shed  had 
stopped  their  labor  and  were  glancing  covertly  toward 
them. 

"Oh,  all  right !"  agreed  Brice,  his  uninterested  voice 
carrying  well,  though  it  was  not  noticeably  raised.  "It 
seems  a  stuffy  sort  of  hole.  But  I'll  take  a  look  at  it, 
if  you  like.  Where's  that  light  you're  going  to  strike? 
It " 

As  he  spoke,  he  sauntered  into  the  storeroom.  His 
lazy  speech  was  cut  short  by  the  clangorous  slam- 
ming of  the  iron  door  behind  him.  Conscientiously 
he  pounded  on  the  iron,  and  yelled  wrathful  commands 
to  Davy  to  open.  Then,  when  he  thought  he  had 
made  noise  enough  to  add  verity  to  his  role  and  to  free 
the  conch  from  any  onlooker's  suspicion,  he  desisted. 

Groping  his  way  through  the  dimness,  to  the  nearest 
box,  he  sat  down,  philosophically,  to  wait. 

"Well,"  he  mused,  sniffing  in  no  approval  at  all  at 
the  musty  air  of  the  place,  and  peering  up  at  the  single 
eight-inch  barred  window  that  served  more  for  ven- 
tilation than  for  light,  "Well,  here  we  are.  And  here, 
presumably,  we  stay;  till  Standish  and  Hade  go  back 
to  the  mainland.  Then  I'm  to  be  let  out,  by  Roke, 
with  many  apologies  for  Davy's  mistake.  There'll 


140         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

be  no  way  of  getting  back.  The  boats  will  be  hidden 
or  padlocked.  And  here  I'll  stay,  with  Roke  for  a 
chum,  till  whatever  is  going  on  at  Standish's  house  is 
safely  finished  with.  It's  a  pretty  program.  If  I  can 
get  away,  to-night,  without  Roke's  finding  it  out  till 
morning " 

His  eyes  were  beginning  to  accustom  themselves  to 
the  room.  Its  corners  and  farther  reaches  and  most 
of  its  floor  were  still  invisible.  But,  by  straining  his 
gaze,  he  could  just  make  out  the  shapes  of  a  crate  or 
two  and  several  packing  boxes,  close  to  the  wall.  The 
central  space  was  clear.  In  spite  of  the  stuffiness, 
there  was  a  damp  chill  tp  the  gloomy  place ;  by  contrast 
to  the  vivid  sunlight  and  the  sweep  of  the  trade-winds, 
outside. 

Gavin  stretched  himself  out  at  full  length  on  the  long 
box;  and  prepared  to  take  a  nap.  First,  he  reached 
toward  the  next  box — the  one  under  which  Davy  had 
told  him  the  key  was  hidden — and  moved  it  an  inch  or 
so,  to  make  certain  it  was  not  full  enough  to  cause  him 
any  especial  effort  in  case  he  should  not  be  released  until  , 
next  day  and  should  have  need  of  the  key.  Then,  he 
shut  his  eyes;  and  let  himself  drift  toward  slum- 
ber. 

It  was  perhaps  two  hours  later  when  he  was  roused 
from  a  light  doze,  by  hearing  something  strike  the 
concrete  floor  of  his  prison,  not  six  feet  from  his 
head.  The  thing  had  fallen  with  a  slithering,  uneven 
sound;  such  as  might  be  made  by  the  dropping  of  a  • 
short  length  of  rope. 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          141 

Brice  sat  up.  He  noted  that  the  room  was  no  longer 
light  enough  to  see  across.  And  he  glanced  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  window.  Its  narrow  space  was  blocked 
by  something.  And  as  he  looked,  he  heard  a  second 
object  slither  to  the  floor. 

"Some  one's  dropping  things  down  here,  through  that 
ventilator,"  he  conjectured. 

And,  at  the  same  moment  a  third  fall  sounded,  fol- 
lowed almost  at  once  by  a  fourth.  Then,  for  a  second, 
the  window  space  was  clear ;  only  to  be  blocked  again, 
as  the  person  outside  returned  to  his  post.  And,  in 
quick  succession,  three  more  objects  were  sent  slither- 
ing down  to  the  floor.  After  which,  the  window  was 
cleared  once  more ;  and  Brice  could  hear  receding  steps. 

But  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  steps.  For,  as  the  last 
of  the  unseen  things  had  been  slid  through  the  aper- 
ture, another  sound  had  focused  all  his  attention;  and 
had  sent  queer  little  quivers  up  his  spine. 

The  sound  had  been  a  long-drawn  hiss. 

And  Gavin  Brice  understood.  Now  he  knew  why 
the  softly  falling  bodies  had  slithered  so  oddly  down 
the  short  distance  between  window  and  floor.  And  he 
read  aright  the  slippery  crawling  little  noises  that  had 
been  assailing  his  ears. 

The  unseen  man,  outside,  had  thrust  through  the  ven- 
tilator not  less  than  seven  or  eight  snakes;  carried 
thither,  presumably,  in  bags. 

Crouching  on  his  long  box,  Gavin  peered  about  him. 
Faintly,  againstythe  dense  gray  of  the  shadowy  floor, 
he  could  see  thick  ropelike  forms  twisting  sinuously 


142         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

to  and  fro;  as  if  exploring  their  new  quarters  or  seek- 
ing exit.  More  than  once,  as  these  chanced  to  cross  one 
another's  path,  that  same  long-drawn  hiss  quavered 
out  into  the  dark  silences. 

And  now,  Brice's  nostrils  were  assailed  by  a  sick- 
ening smell,  as  of  crushed  cucumbers.  And  at  the 
odor,  his  fists  tightened,  in  new  fear.  For,  no  ser- 
pents give  off  that  peculiar  odor,  except  members  of 
the  pit-viper  family. 

'They're  not  rattlesnakes,"  he  told  himself.  "For 
a  scared  or  angry  rattler  would  have  this  room  vibrat- 
ing with  his  whirr.  We're  too  far  south  for  copper- 
heads. The — the  only  other  pit-viper  I  ever  heard  of 
in  Florida  is  the — cotton-mouth  moccasin!" 

At  the  realization,  he  was  aware  of  a  wave  of  physi- 
cal terror  that  swept  him  like  a  breath  of  ice. 

Without  restoratives  at  hand,  the  moccasin's  bite  is 
certain  death.  The  plan  had  been  well  thought  out.  At 
the  very  first  step,  the  frantic  prisoner  might  reasonably 
be  relied  on  to  encounter  one  or  more  of  the  crawling 
horrors.  The  box  on  which  he  crouched  was  barely 
eighteen  inches  high.  The  next  box — under  which 
rested  the  key — was  several  feet  away.  The  door  was 
still  farther  off. 

Truly,  Standish  and  Hade  appeared  to  have  hit  on 
an  excellent  plan  for  getting  rid  of  the  man  they 
wanted  out  of  the  way !  It  would  be  so  easy  for  Roke 
to  explain  to  possible  inquirers  that  Brice  had  chanced 
to  tread  on  a  poisonous  snake,  in  his  wanderings  about 
the  key! 


TRAPS  AND  TRAPPER          143 

The  slightest  motion  might  well  be  enough  to  stir 
to  active  hostility  the  swarm  of  serpents,  already  an- 
gered by  their  sudden  dumping  into  this  clammy  den. 

Weaponless,  helpless,  the  trapped  man  crouched 
there; — and  waited. 


CHAPTER  VI 
IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE 


CHAPTER  VI 
IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE 

AS  Gavin  Brice  sat,  with  feet  drawn  up  under  him, 
listening  to  the  gruesome  slither  of  the  mocca- 
sins along  the  concrete  floor  just  below,  he  was 
gripped,  for  a  minute,  by  irresistible  terror. 

It  was  all  so  simple — so  complete !  And  he  had  been 
calmly  self-confident  of  his  ability  to  command  the  situ- 
ation;— to  play  these  people's  own  game  and  to  beat 
them  at  it.  Grinning  and  open-eyed,  he  had  marched 
into  the  trap.  He  had  been  glad  to  let  Hade  and 
Standish  think  him  safely  out  of  their  way;  and  had 
planned  so  confidently  to  return  by  stealth  to  the  main- 
land that  night  and  to  Milo's  house! 

And  now — they  had  had  absolutely  no  difficulty  in 
caging  him;  and  in  arranging  that  he  should  be  put 
forever  out  of  their  way.  The  most  stringent  inquiry 
— should  any  such  be  made — could  only  show  that  he 
had  been  bitten  once  or  more  by  a  deadly  snake.  Any 
post-mortem  would  bear  out  the  statement. 

It  was  known  to  every  one  that  many  of  the  keys 
— even  several  miles  from  the  mainland — are  infested 
by  rattlesnakes  and  by  other  serpents;  though  how 
such  snakes  ever  got  to  the  islands  is  as  much  of  a 
mystery  to  the  naturalist  world  as  is  the  presence  of 


148         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

raccoons  and  squirrels  on  the  same  keys.  It  is  simply 
one  of  the  hundred  unsolvable  mysteries  and  puzzles  of 
the  sub-tropic  region. 

In  his  jiu-jitsu  instructions,  Brice  had  learned  a 
rule  which  he  had  carried  into  good  effect  in  other 
walks  of  life.  Namely,  to  seem  to  play  one's  oppo- 
nent's game  and  to  be  fooled  by  it;  and  then,  taking 
the  conquering  adversary  by  surprise,  to  strike.  Thus, 
he  had  fallen  in  with  Standish's  suggestion  that  he  come 
to  the  island;  though  he  had  thought  himself  fairly 
sure  as  to  the  reason  for  the  request.  Thus,  too,  he 
had  let  himself  be  lured  into  this  storeroom;  still 
smugly  confident  that  he  held  the  whip  hand  of  the 
situation. 

And,  as  a  result,  he  was  looking  into  the  ghastly  eyes 
of  death. 

Like  an  engine  that  "races,"  his  fertile  brain  was 
unduly  active  in  this  moment  of  stark  horror;  and  it 
ran  uselessly.  Into  his  over-excited  mind  flashed  pic- 
tures of  a  thousand  bits  of  the  past ; — one  of  them,  by 
reason  of  recent  association,  far  more  vivid  than  the 
rest. 

He  saw  himself,  with  four  other  A.E.F.  officers, 
standing  in  a  dim  corner  of  a  high-ceiled  old  room  in 
a  ruined  chateau,  in  Flanders.  In  the  room's  center 
was  a  table.  Around  this  were  grouped  a  double  line 
of  uniformed  Americans; — a  court-martial.  In  came 
two  provosts'  men,  leading  between  them  a  prisoner; 
a  man  in  uniform  and  wearing  the  insignia  of  a  United 
States  army  major; — the  cleverest  spy,  it  was  said,  in 
all  the  Wilhelmstrasse's  pay;  a  genius  who  had  grown 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      149 

rich  at  his  filthy  trade  of  selling  out  his  country's  se-. 
crets,  and  who  had  been  caught  at  last  by  merest  chance. 

The  prisoner  had  glanced  smilingly  about  the  half-lit 
room,  as  he  came  in.  For  the  barest  fraction  of  a 
second,  his  gaze  had  flickered  over  Gavin  Brice  and 
the  three  other  officers  who  stood  there  in  the  shadow. 
Then,  with  that  same  easy,  confident  smile  on  his  mask- 
like,  pallid  face,  the  spy  had  turned  his  glittering  black 
eyes  on  the  officers  at  the  courtmartial  table. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  had  said,  amusedly,  "you  need 
not  go  through  the  farce  of  trying  me.  I  am  guilty. 
I  say  this  with  no  bravado  and  with  no  fear.  Because 
the  bullet  has  never  been  molded  and  the  rope  has 
never  been  plaited  that  can  kill  me.  And  the  cell  is  not 
yet  made  that  can  hold  me." 

He  had  said  it  smilingly;  and  in  a  velvet  suave 
voice.  Yes,  and  he  had  made  good  his  boast.  For — 
condemned  to  die  at  daylight — he  had  escaped  from  his 
ill-constructed  prison  room  in  the  chateau,  a  little  be- 
fore dawn;  and  had  gotten  clean  away,  after  killing 
one  of  his  guards. 

"He  never  set  eyes  on  me,  except  for  that  instant, 
there  in  the  shadows,"  Brice  found  himself  reflecting 
for  the  hundredth  time.  "And  there  were  all  the 
others  with  me.  Yet,  last  night,  he  recalled  my  face. 
It's  lucky  he  didn't  recall  where  he'd  seen  it.  Or — 
perhaps  he  did." 

With  a  start,  he  came  out  of  his  half -hypnotic  daze ; 
— a  daze  which  had  endured  but  a  few  seconds.  And 
once  more  his  rallying  will-power  and  senses  made 


150         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

him  acutely  alive  to  the  hideous  peril  in  which  he 
crouched. 

Then — in  one  of  the  odd  revulsions  which  flash 
across  men  at  unnaturally  high  tension — his  daze  and 
his  terror  merged  all  at  once  into  a  blaze  of  whole- 
some rage.  Nor  was  his  rage  directed  against  Rodney 
Hade;  but  against  Milo  Standish; — the  man  whose  life 
he  had  saved,  not  twenty  hours  earlier;  and  who  had 
repaid  that  mighty  service,  now,  by  helping  to  ar- 
range his  murder. 

At  the  thought,  Brice  grew  hot  with  fury.  He  longed 
to  stand,  face  to  face,  with  the  blackguard  who  had 
rewarded  a  life-gift  in  such  vile  fashion.  He  yearned 
to  tell  Standish,  in  fiery  words,  how  unspeakable  had 
been  the  action;  and  then,  foot  to  foot,  fist  to  fist,  to 
take  out  of  the  giant's  hide  some  tithe  of  the  revenge 
due  for  such  black  ingratitude. 

The  ferocious  impulse  set  steady  his  quivering 
nerves.  No  longer  did  his  brain  race,  uselessly. 
Again,  it  was  alert,  resourceful,  keen. 

Standish !  Yes,  and  no  doubt  Standish's  sister,  too ! 
The  girl  whose  eyes  had  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were 
on  holy  ground; — the  girl  whom  he  had  been  so  irri- 
tatingly  unable  to  get  out  of  his  mind! 

With  an  angry  shake  of  the  head,  Gavin  dismissed 
Claire  from  his  thoughts.  And  his  newborn  hate  con- 
centrated on  her  brother  who  had  betrayed  to  death 
his  rescuer.  Obsessed  with  the  fierce  craving  to  stand 
face  to  face  with  the  blonde-bearded  giant,  he  banished 
his  lethargy  of  hopelessness ;  and  cast  about  for  means 
of  escape,  out  of  this  seemingly  inescapable  snare. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      151 

First,  the  key  must  be  found.  Then  the  door  must 
be  reached  and  opened.  In  the  way  of  both  enterprises 
writhed  a  half  dozen  or  more  deadly  snakes.  And  to 
the  problem  of  winning  past  them  alive  and  getting 
to  his  enemy,  Gavin  Brice  bent  his  trained  faculties. 

The  box  whereon  he  sat  was  covered  with  loose 
boards,  nailed  down  only  at  one  end;  a  long  strip  of 
thin  iron  or  copper  binding  the  one  unopened  edge.  So 
much  his  groping  fingers  told  him.  Moving  to  one 
corner  of  the  box  top,  he  pushed  aside  a  board  and 
plunged  his  hand  into  the  interior.  It  was  as  he  had 
hoped.  According  to  custom,  when  the  box  had  been 
emptied,  the  jute  and  shredded  paper  stuffing  of  its  con- 
tents had  been  thrust  back  into  it,  for  future  use. 

Feverishly,  Gavin  began  to  pull  forth  great  handfuls 
of  paper  and  of  excelsior.  These  he  piled  onto  the 
box  top.  Then,  exerting  all  his  skilled  strength,  he 
tugged  at  the  narrow  iron  strip  which  bound,  length- 
wise, one  side  of  the  box. 

This  task  was  by  no  means  easy ;  for  the  nails  were 
long.  And  the  iron's  sharp  edges  cut  cruelly  into  the 
tugging  fingers.  But,  inch  by  inch,  he  tore  it  free. 
And,  at  the  end  of  three  minutes  he  was  strengthening 
and  testing  a  willowy  five-foot  strip  of  metal.  Laying 
this  across  his  knees,  and  fishing  up  another  double 
handful  of  the  packing  paper  and  jute,  he  groped  in 
his  pockets  with  bleeding  fingertips;  for  a  match. 

He  found  but  one.  Holding  it  tenderly,  he  scraped 
its  surface  against  his  nail ; — a  trick  he  had  picked  up 
in  the  army.  The  sulphur  snapped  and  ignited;  the 
wooden  sliver  burning  freely  in  that  windless  air. 


152          BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

Giving  it  a  good  start,  he  touched  the  point  of  flame 
to  the  piled  jute  and  paper  in  front  of  him.  It  caught, 
in  an  instant.  Still  holding  the  lighted  match,  he  re- 
peated this  ticklish  process,  time  after  time;  tossing 
handfuls  of  the  blazing  stuff  down  onto  the  floor  at 
his  side. 

In  two  minutes  more,  he  had  a  gayly-flaming  pile  of 
inflammable  material  burning  high  there.  Its  gleam 
lightened  every  inch  of  the  gloomy  room.  It  brought 
out  into  hideous  clearness  the  writhing  dark  bodies  of 
the  crawling  moccasins;  even  to  the  patches  of  white 
at  their  lips  which  gave  them  their  sinister  name  of 
"cottonmouths."  Fat  and  short  and  horrible  to  look 
upon,  they  were;  as  they  slithered  and  twisted  here 
and  there  along  the  bright-lit  floor  or  coiled  and  hissed 
at  sight  of  the  flame  and  of  the  fast  plying  hand  and  arm 
of  the  captive  just  above  them. 

But  Brice  had  scant  eyes  or  heed  for  them.  Now 
that  his  blaze  was  started  past  danger  of  easy  ex- 
tinction, he  plunged  both  hands  again  into  the  box. 
And  now,  two  handfuls  at  a  time,  he  began  to  cast  forth 
more  and  more  of  the  stuffing. 

With  careful  aim,  he  threw  it.  Presently,  there  was 
a  wide  line  of  jute  and  paper  extending  from  the  main 
blaze  across  to  the  next  box.  Then,  another  began  to 
pile  up,  in  an  opposite  direction,  toward  the  door.  The 
fire  ran  greedily  along  these  two  lines  of  fuel. 

Meantime,  the  room  was  no  longer  so  clearly  lighted 
as  at  first.  For,  the  smoke  billowed  up  to  the  low  roof ; 
and  in  thick  waves  poured  out  through  the  small  ven- 
tilator. Such  of  it  as  could  not  find  this  means  of 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE       153 

outlet  doubled  back,  floorward;  filling  the  room  with 
chokingly  thick  fumes  which  wellnigh  blinded  and 
strangled  the  man,  and  blotted  out  all  details  of  shape 
and  direction. 

But,  already,  Gavin  Brice  had  slipped  to  the  floor; 
his  thin-shod  feet  planted  in  the  midst  of  the  blaze; 
whose  flames  and  sparks  licked  eagerly  at  his  ankles 
and  legs. 

Following  the  trail  of  fire  which  led  to  the  box,  Gavin 
strode  through  the  very  center  of  this  blazing  path; 
heedless  of  the  burns.  Well  did  he  know  the  snakes 
would  shrink  away  from  actual  contact  with  the 
fire.  And  he  preferred  surface  burns  to  a  fatal  bite 
in  ankle  or  foot. 

As  he  reached  the  box,  its  corners  had  already 
caught  fire  from  the  licking  flames  below.  Heaving 
up  the  burning  receptacle,  Brice  looked  under  it.  There 
lay  the  rusty  key,  just  visible  through  the  lurid  smoke 
glare.  But,  not  ten  inches  away  from  the  far  side  of 
it,  coiled  a  moccasin ;  head  poised  threateningly,  as  the 
box  grazed  it  under  Gavin's  sharp  heave. 

Stooping,  Brice  snatched  up  a  great  bunch  of  the 
flaming  paper  and  flung  it  on  the  serpent's  shining 
coils.  In  practically  the  same  gesture  he  reached  with 
lightning  quickness  for  the  key. 

.  By  a  few  inches  he  had  missed  his  hurried  aim  for 
the  moccasin.  He  had  intended  the  handful  of  fire  to 
land  on  the  floor  just  in  front  of  it;  thus  causing  it  to 
shrink  back.  Instead,  the  burning  particles  had  fallen 
stingingly  among  its  coils. 

The  snake  twisted  its  arrow-shaped  head,  as  if  to 


154         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

see  what  had  befallen  it.  Then,  catching  sight  of 
Brice's  swooping  hand,  it  struck. 

But  the  glance  backward  and  the  incredibly  quick 
withdrawal  of  the  man's  hand  combined  to  form  the 
infinitesimal  space  which  separated  Gavin  from  agon- 
izing death.  The  snake's  striking  head  missed  the  fast- 
retreating  fingers  by  less  than  a  hair's  breadth.  The 
fangs  met  on  the  wards  of  the  rusty  key  Brice  had 
caught  up  in  his  fingertips.  The  force  of  the  stroke 
knocked  the  key  clatteringly  to  the  floor. 

Stepping  back,  Brice  flung  a  second  and  better  aimed 
handful  of  the  dwindling  fire  in  front  of  the  re-coiling 
reptile.  It  drew  back,  hissing.  And  as  it  did  so,  Gavin 
regained  the  fallen  key. 

Wheeling  about,  choking  and  strangling  from  the 
smoke,  his  streamingly  smarting  eyes  barely  able  to 
discern  the  fiery  trail  he  had  laid,  Brice  ran  through 
the  midst  of  the  red  line  of  embers  to  the  door.  Reach- 
ing it,  he  held  the  key  in  one  hand,  while  the  sensitive 
fingers  of  the  other  sought  the  keyhole. 

After  what  seemed  a  century,  he  found  it;  and  ap- 
plied and  turned  the  key  in  the  stiff  lock.  With  a  fierce 
shove  he  pushed  open  the  door.  Then,  as  he  was  about 
to  bound  forth  into  the  glory  of  the  sunset,  he  started 
back,  convulsively. 

One  moccasin  had  evidently  sought  outer  air.  With 
this  in  view,  it  had  stretched  itself  along  the  crack  of 
light  at  the  foot  of  the  door.  Now,  as  the  door  flew 
wide,  the  snake  coiled  itself  to  strike  at  the  man  who 
had  all  but  stepped  on  it. 

Down  whizzed  the  narrow  strip  of  iron  Gavin  had 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      155 

wrenched  from  the  box  as  a  possible  weapon.  And, 
though  the  impact  cut  Br ice's  fingers  afresh,  the  snake 
lay  twisting  wildly  and  harmlessly,  with  a  cloven  spine. 

Over  the  writhing  body  sprang  Gavin  Brice  and 
out  into  the  sandy  open;  filling  his  smoke-tortured 
lungs  with  the  fresh  sunset  air,  and  blinking  away 
the  smoke-damp  from  his  stinging  eyes. 

It  was  then  he  beheld,  running  toward  him,  three 
men.  Far  in  the  van  was  Roke — his  attention  no 
doubt  having  been  caught  by  the  smoke  pouring  through 
the  ventilator.  The  two  others  were  an  undersized 
conch  and  a  towering  Bahama  negro.  All  three  carried 
clubs ;  and  a  pistol  glittered  in  Roke's  left  hand. 

Ten  feet  from  the  reeling  Gavin,  Roke  opened  fire. 

But,  as  he  did  not  halt  when  he  pulled  trigger,  his 
shot  went  wild.  Before  he  could  shoot  again  or  bring 
his  club  into  action,  Brice  was  upon  him.  Gavin  smote 
once  and  once  only,  with  the  willowy  metal  strip.  But 
he  struck  with  all  the  dazzling  speed  of  a  trained  saber 
fencer. 

The  iron  strip  caught  Roke  across  the  eyes,  smart- 
ingly  and  with  a  force  which  blinded  him  for  the  mo- 
ment and  sent  him  staggering  back  in  keen  pain.  The 
iron  strip  doubled  uselessly  under  the  might  of  the 
blow;  and  Gavin  dropped  it  and  ran. 

At  top  speed  he  set  off  toward  the  dock.  The  conch 
and  the  negro  were  between  him  and  the  pier;  and 
from  various  directions  other  men  were  running.  But 
only  the  Bahaman  and  the  little  conch  barred  his  actual 
line  of  progress.  Both  leaped  at  him,  at  the  same  time ; 
as  he  came  dashing  down  on  them. 


156         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

The  conch  was  a  yard  or  so  in  front  of  the  negro. 
And  now  the  fugitive  saw  the  Bahaman's  supposed 
cudgel  was  an  iron  crowbar  which  he  wielded  as  easily 
as  a  wand.  The  negro  leaped  and  at  the  same  time 
struck.  But,  by  some  queer  chance,  the  conch,  a  yard 
ahead  of  him,  lost  his  own  footing  in  the  shifty  sand, 
just  then,  and  tumbled  headlong. 

He  fell  directly  in  the  Bahaman's  path.  The  negro 
stumbled  over  him  and  plunged  earthward;  the  iron 
bar  flying  harmless  from  his  grasp. 

"Good  little  Davy!"  apostrophized  Brice;  as  he 
hurdled  the  sprawling  bodies  and  made  for  the  dock. 

The  way  was  clear ;  and  he  ran  at  a  pace  which  would 
not  have  disgraced  a  college  sprinter.  Once,  glancing 
back  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  the  Bahaman  trying 
blasphemously  to  disentangle  his  legs  from  those  of 
the  prostrate  and  wriggling  Davy.  He  saw,  too,  Roke 
pawing  at  his  cut  face  with  both  hairy  hands ;  and  heard 
him  bellowing  confused  orders  which  nobody  seemed  to 
understand. 

Arrived  at  the  dock,  Gavin  saw  that  Standish's  launch 
was  gone.  So,  too,  was  the  gaudy  little  motorboat 
wherein  Rodney  Hade  had  come  to  the  key.  Two  bat- 
tered and  paintless  motor-scows  remained;  and  one  or 
two  disreputable  rowboats. 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  seconds  for  Brice  to 
cut  loose  the  moorings  of  all  these  craft  and  to  thrust 
them  far  out  into  the  blue  water ;  where  wind  and  tide 
could  be  trusted  to  bear  them  steadily  farther  and 
farther  from  shore. 

Into  the  last  of  the  boats — the  speedier-seeming  of 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE       157 

the  two  launches — Gavin  sprang,  as  he  shoved  it  free 
from  the  float.  And,  before  the  nearest  of  the  island 
men  could  reach  shore,  he  had  the  motor  purring.  Sat- 
isfied that  the  tide  had  caught  the  rest  of  the  fleet  and 
that  the  stiff  trade-wind  was  doing  even  more  to  send 
the  derelict  boats  out  of  reach  from  shore  or  from  pos- 
sible swimmers,  he  turned  the  head  of  his  unwieldy 
launch  toward  the  mainland ;  pointing  it  northeastward 
and  making  ready  to  wind  his  course  through  the 
straits  which  laced  the  various  islets  lying  between  him 
and  his  destination. 

"They'll  have  a  sweet  time  getting  off  that  key,  to- 
night," he  mused  in  grim  satisfaction.  "And,  unless 
they  can  hail  some  passing  boat,  they're  due  to  stay 
there  till  Hade  or  Standish  makes  another  trip  out. 
.  .  .  Standish!" 

At  the  name,  he  went  hot  with  wrath.  Now  that  he 
had  achieved  the  task  of  winning  free  from  his  prison 
and  from  his  jailors,  his  mind  swung  back  to  the  man 
he  had  rescued  and  who  had  sought  his  death.  Anger 
at  the  black  infamy  burned  fiercely  in  Brice's  soul. 
His  whole  brain  and  body  ached  for  redress,  for  physi- 
cal wild-beast  punishment  of  the  ingrate.  The  impulse 
dulled  his  every  other  faculty.  It  made  him  oblivious 
to  the  infinitely  more  important  work  he  had  laid  out 
for  himself. 

No  man  can  be  forever  normal,  when  anger  takes  the 
reins.  And,  for  the  time,  Gavin  Brice  was  deaf  and 
blind  to  every  motive  or  caution;  and  centered  his 
entire  faculties  on  the  yearning  to  punish  Milo  Stan- 
dish.  He  had  fought  like  a  tiger  and  had  risked  his 


158          BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

own  life,  to  save  Standish  from  the  unknown  as- 
sailant's knife  thrust.  Milo,  in  gross  stupidity,  had 
struck  him  senseless.  And,  now,  coldbloodedly,  he  had 
helped  to  plan  for  him  the  most  terrible  form  of 
death  by  torture  to  which  even  an  Apache  could  have 
stooped.  Small  wonder  that  righteous  indignation 
flared  high  within  the  fugitive ! 

Straight  into  the  fading  glory  of  the  sunset,  Brice 
was  steering  his  wallowing  and  leaky  launch.  The 
boat  was  evidently  constructed  and  used  for  the  trans- 
porting of  fruit  from  the  key  to  the  mainland.  She 
was  slow  and  of  deep  draught.  But  she  was  cutting 
down  the  distance,  now,  between  Gavin  and  the  shore. 

He  planned  to  beach  her  on  the  strip  of  sand  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mangrove  swamp;  and  to  make  his  way 
to  the  Standish  house  through  the  hidden  path,  whose 
existence  Milo  had  that  day  poohpoohed.  He  trusted 
to  luck  and  to  justice,  to  enable  him  to  find  the  man 
he  sought,  when  once  he  should  reach  the  house. 

His  only  drawback  was  the  fear  lest  he  encounter 
Claire,  as  well.  In  his  present  wrathful  frame  of  mind 
he  had  no  wish  to  see  or  speak  with  her ;  and  he  hoped 
that  she  might  not  mar,  by  her  presence,  his  encounter 
with  her  brother. 

Between  two  keys  wallowed  his  chugging  boat,  and 
into  a  stretch  of  clear  water  beyond.  Then,  skirting 
a  low-lying  reef,  Gavin  headed  direct  toward  the  distant 
patch  of  yellowish  beach  which  was  his  objective. 

The  sun's  upper  edge  was  sinking  below  the  flat 
skyline.  Mauve  shadows  swept  over  the  aquamarine 
expanse  of  rippling  water.  The  horizon  was  dyed  a 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE       159 

blood-red  which  was  merging  into  ashes  of  roses.  On 
golden  Mashta  played  the  last  level  rays  of  the  dying- 
sun,  caressing  the  wondrous  edifice  as  though  they 
loved  it.  The  subtropical  night  was  rushing  down 
upon  the  smiling  world ; — and,  as  ever,  it  was  descend- 
ing without  the  long  sweet  interval  of  twilight  that 
northern  lands  know. 

Gavin  put  the  tub  to  top  speed,  as  the  last  visible 
obstacle  was  left  behind.  Clear  water  lay  between  him 
and  the  beach.  And  he  was  impatient  to  step  on  land. 
Under  the  fresh  impetus  the  rolling  craft  panted  and 
wheezed,  and  made  her  way  through  the  ripples  at  a 
really  creditable  pace. 

As  the  shadows  thickened,  Brice  half-arose  in  his 
seat  to  get  a  better  glimpse  of  a  little  motorboat  which 
had  just  sprung  into  view  from  around  the  mangrove- 
covered  headland  that  cut  off  the  view  of  Standish's 
mainland  dock.  The  boat,  apparently,  had  put  off 
from  that  pier,  and  was  making  rapid  speed  out  into 
the  bay,  almost  directly  toward  him.  He  could  descry 
a  figure  sitting  in  the  steersman's  seat.  But,  by  that 
ebbing  light,  he  could  discern  only  its  blurred  outline. 

Before  Gavin  could  resume  his  seat,  he  was  flung 
forward  upon  his  face  in  the  bottom  of  his  scow.  The 
jar  of  the  tumble  knocked  him  breathless.  And,  as 
he  scrambled  up,  on  hands  and  knees,  he  saw  what 
had  happened. 

Foolish  is  the  boatman  who  runs  at  full  speed  in 
some  of  the  southwestern  reaches  of  Biscayne  Bay — 
especially  at  dusk — without  up-to-date  chart  or  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  the  bay's  tricky  soundings.  For  the 


160         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

coral  worm  is  tireless ;  and  the  making  of  new  reefs  is 
without  end. 

The  fast-driven  launch  had  run,  bow-on,  into  a 
tooth  of  coral,  barely  ten  inches  under  the  surface  of 
the  smooth  water.  And,  what  with  her  impetus  and 
the  half -rotted  condition  of  her  hull,  she  struck  with 
such  force  as  to  rip  a  hole  in  her  forward  quarter; 
wide  enough  to  stick  a  derby  hat  through. 

In  rushed  the  water ;  filling  her  in  an  incredibly  short 
time.  Settling,  by  the  head,  under  the  weight  of  this 
inpouring  flood,  she  toppled  off  the  tooth  of  reef,  and 
slid  free.  Then,  with  a  wallowing  dignity,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  sink. 

The  iron  sheathing  on  her  keel  and  hull  had  not 
been  strong  enough,  in  its  rusted  state,  to  resist  the 
hammer-blow  of  the  reef.  But  it  was  heavy  enough, 
together  with  her  big  metal  steering  apparatus,  to 
counterbalance  any  buoyant  qualities  left  in  the  wooden 
frame. 

And,  down  she  went;  waddling  like  a  fat  and  pon- 
derous hen,  into  a  twenty- foot  nest  of  water. 

Gavin  had  wasted  no  time  in  the  impossible  feat  of 
baling  her  or  of  plugging  her  unpluggable  leak.  As 
she  went  swayingly  toward  the  bottom  of  the  bay,  he 
slipped  clear  of  her  and  struck  out  through  the  tepid 
water. 

The  mangrove  swamp's  beach  was  a  bare  half-mile 
away.  And  the  man  knew  he  could  swim  the  inter- 
vening space,  with  ease.  Yet  the  tedious  delay  of  it 
all  irked  him  and  fanned  to  a  blind  fury  his  rage 
against  Milo.  Moreover,  now,  he  could  not  hope  to 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      161 

reach  the  hidden  path  before  real  darkness  should  set 
in.  And  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  traversing  its 
blind  mazes  without  a  glimmer  of  daylight  to  guide 
him. 

Yet,  he  struck  out,  stubbornly,  doggedly.  As  he 
passed  the  tooth  of  coral  that  had  wrecked  his  scow, 
the  reef  gave  him  a  painful  farewell  scrape  on  one 
kicking  knee.  He  swam  on,  fuming  at  this  latest 
annoyance. 

Then,  to  his  ears  came  the  steady  purr  of  a  motor- 
boat.  It  was  close  to  him,  and  coming  closer. 

"Boat  ahoy !"  he  sang  out,  treading  water  and  rais- 
ing himself  as  high  as  possible,  to  peer  about  him 
through  the  dusk. 

"Boat  ahoy !"  he  called  again,  shouting,  to  be  heard 
above  the  motor's  hum.  "Man  overboard!  Ten  dol- 
lars if  you'll  carry  me  to  the  mainland !" 

And  now  he  could  see,  against  the  paler  hue  of  the 
sky,  the  dark  outlines  of  the  boat's  prow.  It  was 
bearing  down  on  him.  Above  the  bow's  edge,  he 
could  make  out  the  vague  silhouette  of  a  head  and 
upper  body. 

Then,  into  his  memory  flashed  something  which  the 
shock  of  his  upsetting  had  completely  banished.  He 
recalled  the  motorboat  which  had  darted,  arrow-like, 
out  from  around  the  southern  edge  of  the  mangrove 
swamp;  and  which  he  had  been  watching  when  his 
scow  went  to  pieces  on  the  reef. 

If  this  were  the  same  boat — if  its  steersman  chanced 
to  be  Milo  Standish,  crossing  to  the  key  to  learn  if 
his  murder-plot  had  yet  culminated— so  much  the 


162         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

better!  Man  to  man,  there  between  sea  and  sky,  in 
the  gathering  gloom,  they  could  settle  the  account, 
once  and  for  all. 

Perhaps  Standish  had  recognized  him.  Perhaps  he 
merely  took  him  for  some  capsized  fisherman.  In 
either  event,  a  swimming  man  is  the  most  utterly  de- 
fenseless of  all  creatures,  against  attack  from  land  or 
from  boat.  And  Gavin  was  not  minded  to  let  Standish 
finish  his  work  with  boat-hook  or  with  oar.  If  he  and 
his  foe  were  to  meet,  it  should  be  on  even  terms. 

The  boat  had  switched  off  power  and  was  coming  to 
a  standstill.  Gavin  dived.  He  swam  clean  under  the 
craft,  lengthwise;  coming  up  at  its  stern  and  farthest 
from  that  indistinct  figure  in  the  prow. 

As  he  rose  to  the  surface,  he  caught  with  both 
hands  the  narrow  overhang  of  the  stern;  and  with  a 
mighty  heave  he  hoisted  himself  hip-high,  out  of  the 
water. 

Thence,  it  was  the  work  of  a  bare  two  seconds  for 
him  to  swing  himself  over  the  stern  and  to  land  on 
all  fours  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  narrow  craft 
careened  dangerously  under  such  treatment.  But  she 
righted  herself;  and,  by  the  time  he  had  fairly  landed 
upon  the  cleated  bottom,  Brice  was  on  his  feet  and 
making  for  the  prow.  He  was  ready  now  for  any 
emergency  and  could  meet  his  adversary  on  equal 
terms, 

"Mr.  Brice!"  called  the  boat's  other  occupant, 
springing  up,  her  sweet  voice  trembling  and  almost 
tearful.  "Oh,  thank  God  you're  safe!  I  was  so 
frightened !" 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      163 

"Miss  Standish!"  sputtered  Gavin,  aghast.  "Miss 
Standish!" 

For  a  moment  they  stood  staring  at  each  other 
through  the  darkness;  wordless,  breathing  hard. 
Their  quick  breath,  and  the  trickling  of  fifty  runnels 
of  water  from  Gavin's  drenched  clothes  into  the 
bottom  of  the  once-tidy  boat,  alone  broke  the  tense 
stillness  of  sky  and  bay.  Then • 

"You're  safe?  You're  not  harmed?"  panted  the 
girl. 

And  the  words  brought  back  with  a  rush,  to  Gavin 
Brice,  all  he  had  been  through. 

"Yes,"  he  made  harsh  answer,  trying  to  steady 
his  rage-choked  voice.  "I  am  safe.  I  am  not  harmed. 
Apart  from  a  few  fire-blisters  on  my  ankles  and  the 
charring  of  my  clothes,  and  the  barking  of  one  knee 
against  a  bit  of  submerged  coral,  and  the  cutting  of 
my  fingers  rather  badly,  and  a  few  more  minor  mis- 
chances— I'm  quite  safe  and  none  the  worse  for  the 
Standish  family's  charming  hospitality.  And,  by  the 
way,  may  I  suggest  that  it  might  have  been  better  for 
your  brother  or  the  gentle-hearted  Mr.  Hade  to  run 
across  to  the  key  to  get  news  of  my  fate;  instead  of 
sending  a  girl  on  such  an  errand?  It's  no  business 
of  mine,  of  course.  And  I  don't  presume  to  criticize 
two  such  noble  heroes.  But  surely  they  ought  not 
have  sent  you.  If  their  kindly  plan  had  worked  out 
according  to  schedule,  I  should  not  have  been  a  pretty 
sight  for  a  woman  to  look  at,  by  this  time.  I " 

"I — I  don't  understand  half  of  the  things  you're 
saying!"  she  cried,  shrinking  from  his  taunting  tone 


164         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

as  from  a  fist-blow.  "They  don't  make  any  sense  to 
me.  But  I  do  see  why  you're  so  angry.  And  I  don't 
blame  you.  It  was  horrible!  Horrible!  It " 

"It  was  all  that,"  he  agreed,  drily,  breaking  in  on 
her  quivering  speech  and  steeling  himself  against 
its  pitiful  appeal.  "All  that.  And  then  some.  And 
it's  generous  of  you  not  to  blame  me  for  being  just 
the  very  tiniest  least  bit  riled  by  it.  That  helps.  I 
was  afraid  my  peevishness  might  displease  you.  My 
temper  isn't  what  it  should  be.  If  it  were,  I  should 
be  apologizing  to  you  for  getting  your  nice  boat  all 
sloppy,  like  this." 

"Please!"  she  begged.  "Please!  Won't  you  please 
try  not  to — to  think  too  hardly  of  my  brother?  And 
won't  you  please  acquit  me  of  knowing  anything  of  it? 
I  didn't  know.  Honestly,  Mr  Brice,  I  didn't.  When 
Milo  came  back  home  without  you,  he  told  me  you 
had  decided  to  stay  on  at  Roustabout  Key,  to  help 
Roke;  till  the  new  foreman  could  come  from  Home- 
stead." 

"Quite  so,"  assented  Gavin,  his  voice  as  jarring  as 
a  file's.  "I  did.  And  he  decided  that  I  shouldn't 
change  my  mind.  He " 

"It  wasn't  till  'half  an  hour  ago,"  she  hurried  on, 
miserably,  "that  I  knew.  I  was  coming  down  stairs. 
Milo  and  Rodney  Hade  were  in  the  music-room  to- 
gether. I  didn't  mean  to  overhear.  But  oh,  I'm  so 
glad  I  did!" 

"I'm  glad  it  could  make  you  so  happy,"  he  said. 
"The  pleasure  is  all  yours." 

"All  I  caught  was  just  this :"   she  went  on.     "Rod- 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      165 

ney  was  saying :  'Nonsense !  Roke  will  have  let  him  out 
before  now.  And  there  are  worse  places  to  spend  a 
hot  afternoon  in  than  locked  snugly  in  a  cool  store- 
room.' " 

"Are  there?"  interpolated  Brice.  "I'd  hate  to  test 
that." 

"All  in  a  flash,  I  understood,"  she  continued,  her 
sweet  voice  struggling  gallantly  against  tears.  "I  knew 
Rodney  didn't  want  us  to  have  any  guests  or  to  have 
any  outsiders  at  all  at  our  house.  He  was  fearfully 
displeased  with  us,  last  night,  for  having  you  there. 
It  was  all  we  could  do  to  persuade  him  that  the  man 
who  had  saved  Mile's  life  couldn't  be  turned  out  of 
doors  or  left  to  look  elsewhere  for  work.  It  was  only 
when  Milo  promised  to  give  you  work  at  the  key,  that  he 
stopped  arguing  and  being  so  imperative  about  it. 
And  when  I  heard  him  speak,  just  now,  about  your 
being  locked  in  a  store  room,  there,  I  knew  he  had 
done  it  to  prevent  your  coming  back  here  for  a  while." 

"Your  reasoning  was  most  unfeminine  in  its  correct- 
ness," approved  Gavin,  still  forcing  himself  to  resist 
the  piteous  pleading  in  her  voice. 

He  could  see  her  flinch  under  the  harshness  of  his 
tone,  as  she  added: 

"And  all  at  once  I  realized  what  it  must  mean  to  you 
and  what  you  must  think  of  us — after  all  you'd  done 
for  Milo.  And  I  knew  how  a  beast  like  Roke  would 
be  likely  to  treat  you,  when  he  knew  my  brother  and 
Rodney  had  left  you  there  at  the  mercy  of  his  com- 
panionship. There  was  no  use  talking  to  them.  It 
might  be  hours  before  I  could  convince  them  and  make 


166         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

them  go  or  send  for  you.  And  I  couldn't  bear  to  have 
you  kept  there  all  that  time.  So  I  slipped  out  of  the 
house  and  ran  to  the  landing.  Just  as  I  got  out  into  the 
bay,  I  saw  you  coming  through  that  strait,  back  there. 
I  recognized  the  fruit  launch.  And  I  knew  it  must 
be  you.  For  nobody  from  the  key  would  have  run  at 
such  speed  toward  that  clump  of  reefs.  You  capsized, 
before  I  could  get  to  you;  and " 

She  shuddered;  and  ceased  to  speak.  For  another 
moment  or  two  there  was  silence  between  them.  Gavin 
Brice's  mind  was  busy  with  all  she  said.  He  was  dis- 
secting and  analyzing  her  every  anxious  word.  He 
was  bringing  to  bear  on  the  matter  not  only  his  trained 
powers  of  logic,  but  his  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

And,  all  at  once,  he  knew  this  trembling  girl  was  in 
no  way  guilty  of  the  crime  attempted  against  him. 
He  knew,  too,  from  the  speech  of  Hade's  which  she 
had  just  repeated,  that  Standish,  presumably  had  had 
no  part  in  the  attempted  murder;  but  that  that  detail 
had  been  devised  by  Hade  for  Roke  to  put  into  execu- 
tion. Nor,  evidently,  had  Davy  been  let  into  the 
secret  by  Roke. 

In  a  few  seconds,  Brice  had  revised  his  ideas  as  to 
the  afternoon's  adventures ;  and  had  come  to  a  sudden 
decision.  Speaking  with  careful  forethought  and  with 
a  definite  object  in  view,  he  said : 

"Miss  Standish,  I  do  not  ask  pardon  for  the  way 
I  spoke  to  you,  just  now.  And  when  you've  heard  why, 
you  won't  blame  me.  I  want  to  tell  you  just  what  hap- 
pened to  me,  to-day,  from  the  time  I  set  foot  on  Rousta- 
bout Key,  until  I  boarded  this  boat  of  yours.  When 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      167 

you  realize  that  I  thought  your  brother  and  probably 
yourself  were  involved  in  it  to  the  full,  you'll  under- 
stand, perhaps,  why  I  didn't  greet  you  with  overmuch 
cordiality.  Will  you  listen?" 

She  nodded  her  head,  wordless ;  not  trusting  her  voice 
to  speak  further.  And  she  sank  back  into  the  seat 
she  had  quitted.  Brice  seated  himself  on  the  thwart 
near  her;  and  began  to  speak;  while  the  boat,  its 
power  still  shut  off,  bobbed  lazily  on  a  lazier  sea. 

Tersely,  yet  omitting  no  detail  except  that  of  his 
talk  with  Davy,  he  told  of  the  afternoon's  events.  She 
heard,  wide-eyed  and  breathing  fast.  But  she  made 
no  interruption;  except,  when  he  came  to  the  episode 
of  the  moccasins,  she  cried  aloud  in  horror;  and 
caught  unconsciously  his  lacerated  hand  between  her 
own  warm  palms. 

The  clasp  of  her  fingers,  unintentional  as  it  was,  sent 
a  strange  thrill  through  the  man;  and,  for  an  instant, 
he  wavered  in  his  recital.  But  he  forced  himself  to 
continue.  And,  after  a  few  seconds,  the  girl  seemed 
to  realize  what  she  was  doing.  For  she  withdrew  her 
hands,  swiftly;  and  clasped  them  together  in  her  lap. 

As  he  neared  the  end  of  his  brief  story,  she  raised 
her  hands  again.  But  they  did  not  seek  his.  Instead, 
she  covered  her  horrified  eyes  with  them;  and  she 
shook  all  over. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  could  see  she  was  fighting 
for  self-control.  Then,  in  a  flood,  the  power  of  speech 
came  back  to  her. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  her  flower-face  white  and  drawn, 


168         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

in  the  faint  light.  "Oh,  it  can't  be.  It  can't!  There 
must  be  a  hideous  mistake,  somewhere !" 

"There  is,"  he  agreed,  with  a  momentary  return  to 
his  former  manner.  "There  was  one  mistake.  I  made 
it;  by  escaping.  Otherwise,  the  plan  was  flawless. 
Luckily,  a  key  had  been  left  on  the  floor.  And  luckily, 
I  got  hold  of  it.  Luckily,  too,  I  had  a  match  with  me. 
And,  if  there  are  sharks  as  near  land  as  this,  luckily 
you  happened  to  meet  me  as  I  was  swimming  for  shore. 
As  to  mistakes .  Have  you  a  flashlight?" 

From  her  pocket,  she  drew  a  small  electric  torch  she 
had  had  the  foresight  to  pick  up  from  the  hall  table  as 
she  ran  out.  Gavin  took  it  and  turned  its  rays  on 
his  wet  ankles.  His  shoes  and  trouser-legs  still  showed 
clear  signs  of  the  scorching  they  had  received.  And 
his  palms  were  cut  and  abraded. 

"If  I  had  wanted  to  make  up  a  story,"  said  he,  "I 
could  have  devised  one  that  didn't  call  for  such  painful 
stage-setting." 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  begged.  "Don't  speak  so  flippantly 
of  it!  How  can  you?  And  don't  think,  for  one  in- 
stant, that  I  doubted  your  word.  I  didn't.  But  it 

didn't  seem  possible  that  such  a  thing Mr.  Brice !" 

she  broke  off,  earnestly.  "You  mustn't — you  can't — 
think  that  Milo  knew  anything  of  this !  I  mean  about 
the — the  snakes  and  all.  He  is  enough  to  blame — he 
has  shamed  our  hospitality  and  every  trace  of  grati- 
tude enough — by  letting  you  be  locked  in  there  at  all 
and  by  consenting  to  have  you  marooned  on  the  key. 
I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  him  for  that.  There's  no 
excuse.  And  without  proof  I  wouldn't  have  believed 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      169 

it  of  him.  But  at  least  you  must  believe  he  had  no 
part  in — in  the  other " 

"I  do  believe  it,"  said  Gavin,  gently,  touched  to  the 
heart  by  her  grief  and  shame.  "At  first,  I  was  certain 
he  had  connived  at  it.  But  what  you  overheard  proves 
he  didn't." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply. 

This  time  it  was  his  hand  that  sought  hers.  And, 
even  as  she,  he  was  unconscious  of  the  action. 

"You  mustn't  let  this  distress  you  so,"  he  soothed, 
noting  her  effort  to  fight  back  the  tears.  "It  all  came 
out,  safely  enough.  But — I  think  I've  paid  to-day  for 
my  right  to  ask  such  a  question — how  does  it  happen 
that  you  and  your  brother — you,  especially — can  have 
sunk  to  such  straits  that  you  take  orders,  meekly,  from 
a  murderer  like  Rodney  Hade,  and  that  you  let  him 
dictate  what  guests  you  shall  or  shan't  receive?" 

She  shivered,  all  over. 

"I — I  have  no  right  to  tell  you,"  she  murmured. 
"It  isn't  my  secret.  I  have  no  right  to  say  there  is 
any  secret.  But  there  is!  And  it  is  making  my  life  a 
torture!  If  only  you  knew — if  only  there  were  some 
one  I  could  turn  to  for  help  or  even  for  advice !  But 
I'm  all  alone,  except  for  Milo.  And  lately  he's  changed 
so!  I " 

She  broke  down,  all  at  once,  in  her  valiant  attempt 
at  calmness.  And,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands 
again,  she  burst  into  a  tempest  of  weeping.  Gavin 
Brice,  a  lump  in  his  own  throat,  drew  her  to  him.  And 
she  clung  to  his  soaked  coat  lapels,  hiding  her  head 
on  his  drenched  breast. 


170         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

There  was  nothing  of  love  or  of  sex  in  the  action. 
She  was  simply  a  heartbroken  child  seeking  refuge  in 
the  strength  of  some  one  older  and  stronger  than  she, 
Gavin  realized  it ;  and  he  held  her  to  him  and  comforted 
her  as  though  she  had  been  his  little  sister. 

Presently  the  passion  of  convulsive  weeping  passed ; 
leaving  her  broken  and  exhausted.,  Gavin  knew  the 
girl's  powers  of  mental  resistance  were  no  longer 
strong  enough  to  overcome  her  need  for  a  comforter 
to  whom  she  could  unburden  her  soul  of  its  miserable 
perplexities. 

She  had  drawn  back  from  his  embrace,  but  she  still 
sat  close  to  him,  her  hands  in  his;  pathetically  eager 
for  his  sympathy  and  aid.  The  psychological  mo- 
ment had  come,  and  Gavin  Brice  knew  it.  Loathing 
himself  for  the  role  he  must  play  and  vowing  solemnly 
to  his  own  heart  that  she  should  never  be  allowed  to 
suffer  for  any  revelation  she  might  make,  he  said, 
with  a  gentle  insistence: 

"Tell  me." 


CHAPTER  VII 
SECRETS 


CHAPTER  VII 
SECRETS 

THERE  was  a  short  silence.  Brice  looked  anx- 
iously through  the  gathering  darkness  at  the 
dimly  seen  face  so  near  to  his  own.  He  could  not 
guess,  for  the  life  of  him,  whether  the  girl  were 
silent  because  she  refused  to  tell  him  what  he  sought 
so  eagerly  to  know ;  or  whether  she  were  still  fighting 
to  control  her  voice. 

As  he  sat  gazing  down  at  her,  there  was  something 
so  tiny,  so  fragile,  so  helplessly  trustful  about  her; 
that  it  went  straight  to  the  man's  heart.  He  had 
played  and  schemed  and  risked  life  itself  for  this  cru- 
cial hour; — for  this  hour  when  he  should  have  swept 
aside  the  girl's  possible  suspicions  and  enlisted  her 
complete  sympathy  for  himself  and  could  make  her 
trust  him  and  feel  keen  remorse  for  the  treatment  he 
had  received. 

Yes — he  had  achieved  all  this.  And  he  had  done 
infinitely  more.  He  had  awakened  in  her  heart  a  sense 
of  loneliness  and  of  need  for  some  one  in  whom  she 
might  confide. 

He  had  done  all  this,  had  Gavin  Brice.  And,  though 
he  was  not  a  vain  man,  yet  he  knew  he  had  done  it 
cleverly.  But,  somehow — even  as  he  waited  to  see  if 

173 


174         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

the  hour  for  full  confidences  were  indeed  ripe — he  was 
not  able  to  feel  the  thrill  of  exultation  which  should  be- 
long to  the  winner  of  a  hard-fought  duel.  Instead,  to 
his  amazement,  he  was  aware  of  a  growing  sense  of 
shame; — of  disgust  at  having  used  such  weapons 
against  any  woman ; — especially  against  this  girl  whose 
whiteness  of  soul  and  of  purpose  he  could  no  longer 
doubt. 

Then,  through  the  silence  and  above  the  soft  lap- 
lap-lap  of  water  against  the  idly  drifting  boat's  side, 
Claire  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  threw  back  her 
drooping  shoulders  and  sat  up,  facing  the  man.  And 
in  the  dusk,  Gavin  could  see  the  flash  of  resolve  in 
her  great  eyes. 

"Yes!"  she  said,  impulsively.  "Yes.  I'll  tell  you. 
If  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  tell,  then  let  it  be  wrong. 
I'm  sick  of  mystery  and  secrets  and  signals  and  sus- 
pense, and — oh,  I'm  sick  of  it  all!  And  it's — it's  splen- 
did of  you  to  want  to  help  me; — after  what  has  hap- 
pened to  you  through  meeting  me !  It's  your  right  to 
know." 

She  paused  for  breath.  And  again  Gavin  wondered 
at  his  own  inability  to  feel  a  single  throb  of  gladness 
at  having  come  so  triumphantly  to  the  end  of  this  par- 
ticular road.  Glumly,  he  stared  down  at  the  vibrant 
little  figure  beside  him. 

"There  is  some  of  it  I  don't  know,  myself,"  she  be- 
gan. "And  lately  I've  found  myself  wondering  if  all 
I  really  know  is  true;  or  whether  they  have  been  de- 
ceiving me  about  some  of  it.  I  have  no  right  to  feel 
that  way,  I  suppose,  about  my  own  brother.  But  he's 


SECRETS  175 

so  horribly  under  Rodney  Hade's  influence,  and " 

Again,  she  paused ;  seeming  to  realize  she  was  wan- 
dering from  the  point.  And  she  made  a  fresh  start. 

"It  all  began  as  an  adventure,  a  sort  of  game,  more 
than  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "At  least,  looking  back, 
that's  the  way  it  seems  to  me,  now.  As  a  wonderfully 
exciting  game.  You  see,  everything  down  here  was  so 
thrillingly  exciting  and  interesting  to  me,  even  then." 

"I  see." 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  she  added,  "I  think  I  can 
make  you  understand  it  all  the  better,  if  you'll  let  me 
go  back  to  the  beginning.  I'll  make  it  as  short  as  I 
can." 

"Yes." 

"I  had  been  brought  up  in  New  York,  except  when 
we  were  in  Europe  or  when  I  was  away  at  school.  My 
father  and  mother  never  let  me  see  or  know  anything 
of  real  life.  Dad  was  old,  even  as  far  back  as  I  can 
remember.  Mother  was  his  second  wife.  Milo's 
mother  was  his  first  wife ;  and  she  died  ever  so  long  ago, 
Milo  is  twenty  years  older  than  I  am.  Milo  came 
down  here  on  a  cruise,  when  he  got  out  of  college.  And 
he  fell  in  love  with  this  part  of  the  country.  He  per- 
suaded Dad  to  buy  him  a  farm  here ;  and  he  has  spent 
fifteen  years  in  building  it  up  to  what  it  is,  now.  He 
and  my  mother  didn't — didn't  get  on  awfully  well,  to- 
gether. So  Milo  spent  about  all  his  time  down  here; 
and  I  hardly  ever  saw  him.  Then  Dad  and  Mother 
died,  within  a  day  of  each  other,  during  the  flu  epi- 
demic. And  Milo  came  on,  for  the  funeral,  of  course, 
and  to  wind  up  the  estate.  Then  he  wanted  me  to 


176         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

come  down  here  and  live  with  him.     He  said  ne  was 
lonely.    And  I  was  still  lonelier. 

"I  came  here.  And  I've  been  here  ever  since.  It 
is  a  part  of  the  world  that  throws  a  charm  around 
every  one  who  stays  long  enough  under  its  spell.  And 
I  grew  to  loving  it  as  much  as  Milo  did.  We  had  a 
beautiful  life  here,  he  and  I  and  the  cordial,  lovable 
people  who  became  our  friends.  It  was  last  spring 
that  Rodney  Hade  came  to  see  us.  Milo  had  known 
him,  slightly,  down  here,  years  ago.  He  came  back 
here — nobody  knows  from  where ; — and  rented  a  house, 
the  other  side  of  Coconut  Grove;  and  brought  his 
yacht  down  to  Miami  Harbor.  Almost  right  away, 
he  seemed  to  gain  the  queerest  influence  over  Milo. 
It  was  almost  like  hypnotism.  And  yet,  I  don't  alto- 
gether wonder.  He  has  an  odd  sort  of  fascination 
about  him.  Even  when  he  is  discussing  his  snakes." 

"His  snakes?" 

"He  has  three  rooms  in  his  house  fitted  up  as  a 
reptile  zoo.  He  collects  them  from  everywhere.  He 
says — and  he  seems  to  believe  it — that  they  won't 
hurt  him  and  that  he  can  handle  them  as  safely  as  if 
they  were  kittens.  Just  like  that  man  they  used  to 
have  in  the  post  office  up  at  Orlando,  who  used  to 
sit  with  his  arms  full  of  rattlesnakes  and  moccasins, 
and  pet  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Gavin,  absentmindedly,  as  he  struggled 
against  an  almost  overmastering  impulse  which  was 
gripping  him.  "I  remember.  But  at  last  one  of  his 
pets  killed  him.  He " 

"How  did  you  know?"  she  asked,  surprised.    "How 


SECRETS  177 

in  the  world  should  a  newcomer  from  the  North  know 
about " 

"Oh,  I  read  it  in  a  Florida  dispatch  to  one  of  the 
New  York  papers,"  he  said,  impatient  at  his  own  blun- 
der. "And  it  was  such  a  strange  story  it  stuck  in  my 
memory.  It " 

"Well,"  resumed  Claire,  "I  think  I've  made  you 
understand  the  simple  and  natural  things  that  led  up  to 
it  all.  And  now,  I'll  tell  you  everything; — at  least 
everything  I  know  about  it.  It's — it's  a  gruesome  sort 
of  story,  and — and  I've  grown  to  hate  it  all  so!" 

She  quivered.  Then,  squaring  her  young  shoulders 
again,  she  continued: 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  what  I'm  going  to  tell 
you.  But  it's  all  true.  It  began  this  way: 

"One  night,  six  months  ago,  as  Milo  and  I  were 
sitting  on  the  veranda,  we  heard  a  scream — a  hideous 
sound  it  was — from  the  mangrove  swamp.  And  a 
queer  creature  in  drippy  white  came  crawling  out 
of " 

"Wait!" 

Brice's  monosyllable  smashed  into  the  current  of 
her  scarce-started  narrative  with  the  jarring  sudden- 
ness of  a  pistol  shot.  She  stared  up  at  him  in  amaze. 
For,  seen  through  the  starlight,  his  face  was  working 
strangely.  And  his  voice  was  vibrant  with  some  mighty 
emotion. 

"Wait!'  he  repeated.  "You  shan't  go  on.  You 
shan't  tell  me  the  rest.  I'm  a  fool.  For  I'm  throwing 
away  the  best  chance  that  could  have  come  to  me.  I'm 


178         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLA1ST 

throwing  it  away  with  my  eyes  open,  and  because  I'm 
a  fool." 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  she  faltered,  bewildered. 

"No,"  he  said  roughly.  "You  don't  understand. 
That's  just  why  I  can't  let  you  go  on.  And,  because 
I'm  a  fool,  I  can't  play  out  this  hand,  where  every  card 
is  mine.  I'll  despise  myself,  always,  for  this,  I  suppose. 
And  it's  a  certainty  that  I'll  be  despised.  It  means  an 
end  to  a  career  I  found  tremendously  interesting.  I 
didn't  need  the  money  it  brought.  But  I " 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?"  she  de- 
manded, drawing  a  little  away  from  him.  "I " 

"Listen,"  he  interrupted.  "A  lot  of  men,  in  my  line 
and  in  others,  have  come  a  cropper  in  their  careers, 
because  of  some  woman.  But  I'm  the  first  to  come 
such  a  cropper  on  account  of  a  woman  with  a  white 
soul  and  the  eyes  of  a  child; — a  woman  I  scarcely 
know,  and  who  has  no  interest  in  me.  But,  to-night,  I 
shall  telegraph  my  resignation.  Some  saner  man  can 
take  charge.  There  are  enough  of  our  men  massed  in 
this  vicinity  to  choose  from.  I'm  going  to  get  out  of 
Florida  and  leave  the  game  to  play  itself  to  an  end, 
without  me.  I'm  an  idiot  to  do  it.  But  I'd  be  worse 
than  an  idiot  to  let  you  trust  me  and  let  you  tell  me 
things  that  would  wreck  your  half-brother  and  bring 
sorrow  and  shame  to  you.  I'm  through!  And  I  can't 
even  be  sorry." 

"Mr.  Brice,"  she  said,  gently,  "I'm  afraid  your  ter- 
rible experiences,  this  afternoon  and  last  evening,  have 
unsettled  your  mind,  a  little.  Just  sit  still  there,  and 
rest.  I  am  going  to  run  the  boat  to  shore  and " 


SECRETS  179 

"You're  right,"  he  laughed,  ruefully,  as  he  made  way 
for  her  to  start  the  engine.  "My  experiences  have  'un- 
settled' my  mind.  And  now  that  I've  spoiled  my  own 
game,  I'll  tell  you  the  rest — as  much  of  it  as  I  have 
a  right  to.  It  doesn't  matter,  any  longer.  Hade  knows 
— or  at  least  suspects.  That's  why  he  tried  to  get 
me  killed.  In  this  century,  people  don't  try  to  have 
others  killed,  just  for  fun.  There's  got  to  be  a  pow- 
erful motive  behind  it.  Such  a  motive  as  made  a  man, 
last  evening,  try  to  knife  your  half-brother.  Such  a 
motive  as  induced  Hade  to  get  me  out  of  the  way. 
He  knows.  Or  he  suspects.  And  that  means  the 
crisis  must  come,  almost  at  once.  The  net  will  close. 
Whether  or  not  it  catches  him  in  it." 

The  boat  was  started  and  had  gotten  slowly  under 
way.  During  its  long  idleness  it  had  been  borne  some 
distance  to  southwestward  by  tide  and  breeze.  Her 
work  done,  Qaire  turned  again  to  Gavin. 

"Don't  try  to  talk,"  she  begged — as  she  had  begged 
him  on  the  night  before.  "Just  sit  back  and  rest." 
"Even  now,  you  don't  get  an  inkling  of  it,"  he  mur- 
mured. "That  shows  how  little  they've  taken  you  into 
their  confidence.  They  warned  you  against  any  one 
who  might  find  the  hidden  path;  and  they  even  armed 
you  for  such  an  emergency.  Yet  they  never  told  you 
the  Law  might  possibly  be  crouching  to  spring  on  the 
Standish  place,  quite  as  ferociously  as  those  other 
people  who  are  in  the  secret  and  who  want  to  rob 
Standish  and  Hade  of  the  loot !  And,  by  the  way,"  he 
went  on,  pettishly,  still  smarting  under  his  own  re- 
nunciation, "tell  Hade  with  my  compliments  that  if  he 


180         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

had  lived  as  long  in  Southern  Florida  as  I  have,  he'd 
know  mocking  birds  don't  sing  here  in  mid-February; 
and  he'd  devise  some  other  signal  to  use  when  he  comes 
ashore  by  way  of  that  path  and  wants  to  know  if  the 
coast  is  clear." 

And  now,  forgetful  x>f  the  shadowy  course  where- 
with she  was  guiding  the  boat  toward  the  distant  dock 
— forgetful  of  everything — she  dropped  her  hand  from 
the  steering  wheel  and  turned  about,  in  crass  astonish- 
ment, to  gaze  at  him. 

"What — what  do  you  mean?"  she  queried.  "You 
know  about  the  signal? — You ?" 

"I  know  far  too  little  about  any  of  the  whole  crooked 
business !"  he  retorted,  still  enraged  at  his  own  quixotic 
resolve.  "That's  what  I  was  sent  here  to  clean  up; — 
after  a  dozen  others  failed.  That's  what  I  was  put 
in  charge  of  this  district  for.  That's  what  I  coulH 
have  found  out — or  seventy  per  cent  of  it — if  I'd  had 
the  sense  not  to  stop  you  when  you  started  to  tell  me, 
just  now." 

"Mr.  Brice,"  she  said,  utterly  confused,  "I  don't  un- 
derstand you  at  all.  At  first  I  was  afraid  that  blow 
on  the  head,  and  then  this  afternoon's  terrible  experi- 
ences, had  turned  your  wits.  But  you -don't  talk  like  a 
man  who  is  delirious  or  sick.  And  there  are  things 
you  couldn't  possibly  know — that  signal,  for  instance 
— if  you  were  what  you  seemed  to  be.  You  made  me 
think  you  were  a  stranger  in  Florida, — that  you  were 
down  here,  penniless  and  out  of  work.  Yet  now  you 
speak  about  some  mysterious  'job'  that  you  are  giving 
up.  It's  all  such  a  tangle !  I  can't  understand." 


SECRETS  181 

Brice  tried  to  ignore  the  pitiful  pleading — the  child- 
like tremor — in  her  sweet  voice.  But  it  cut  to  the  soul 
of  him.  And  he  replied,  brusquely : 

"I  let  you  think  I  was  a  dead-broke  work-hunter. 
I  did  that,  because  I  needed  to  get  into  your  brother's 
house;  to  make  certain  of  things  which  we  suspected 
but  couldn't  quite  prove.  I  am  the  ninth  man,  in  the 
past  two  months,  to  try  to  get  in  there.  And  I'm  the 
second  to  succeed.  The  first  couldn't  find  out  anything 
of  use.  He  could  only  confirm  some  of  our  ideas. 
That's  the  sort  of  a  man  he  is.  A  fine  subordinate; 
but  with  no  genius  for  anything  else  except  to  obey 
orders.  I  was  the  only  one  of  the  nine,  with  brains, 
who  could  win  any  foothold  there.  And  now  I'm 
throwing  away  all  I  gained ; — because  one  girl  happens 
to  be  too  much  of  a  child  (or  of  a  saint)  for  me  to  lie 
to!  I've  reason  to  be  proud  of  myself; — haven't  I?" 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked,  dully  bewildered  under 
his  fierce  tirade  of  self -contempt.  "Who  are  you? 
What  are  you?" 

"I'm  Gavin  Brice,"  he  said.  "As  I  told  you.  But 
I'm  also  a  United  States  Secret  Service  official— which 
I  didn't  tell  you." 

"No !"  she  stammered,  shrinking  back.     "Oh,  no!" 

He  continued,  briskly : 

"Your  brother,  and  your  snake-loving  friend  Rodney 
Hade,  are  working  a  pretty  trick  on  Uncle  Sam.  And 
the  Federal  Government  has  been  trying  to  block  it 
for  the  past  few  months.  There  are  plenty  of  us 
down  here,  just  now.  But,  up  to  lately,  nothing's  been 


,182         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

accomplished.    That's  why  they  sent  me.    They  knew 
I'd  had  plenty  of  experience  in  this  region." 

"Here?     In  Florida?     But " 

"I  spent  all  my  vacations  at  my  grandfather's  place, 
below  Coconut  Grove,  when  I  was  in  school  and  in 
college  and  for  a  while  afterward;  and  I  know  this 
coast  and  the  keys  as  well  as  any  outsider  can; — even 
if  I  was  silly  enough  to  let  my  scow  run  into  a  reef, 
to-night,  that  wasn't  here  in  my  day.  They  sent  me 
to'take  charge  of  the  job  and  to  straighten  out  its  mix- 
ups  and  to  try  to  win  where  the  others  had  bungled. 
I  was  doing  it,  too, — and  it  would  have  been  a  big 
feather  in  my  cap,  at  Washington, — when  my  good 
sense  went  to  pieces  on  a  reef  named  Claire  Standish ; 
— '-a.  reef  I  hadn't  counted  on,  any  more  than  I  counted 
on  the  reef  that  stove  in  my  scow,  an  hour  ago." 

She  strove  to  speak.  The  words  died  in  her  parched 
throat.  Brice  went  on: 

"I've  always  bragged  that  I'm  woman-proof.  I'm 
not.  No  man  is.  I  hadn't  met  the  right  woman.  That 
was  all.  If  you'd  been  of  the  vampire  type  or  the 
ordinary  kind,  I  could  have  gone  on  with  it,  without 
turning  a  hair.  If  you'd  been  mixed  up  in  any  of  the 
criminal  part  of  it  at  all — as  I  and  all  of  us  supposed 
you  must  be — I'd  have  had  no  scruples  about-using  any 
information  I  could  get  from  you.  But — well,  to-night, 
out  here,  all  at  once  I  understood  what  I'd  been  deny- 
ing to  myself  ever  since  I  met  you.  And  I  couldn't 
go  on  with  it.  You'll  be  certain  to  suffer  from  it, 
in  any  case.  But  I'm  strong  enough  at  the  Depart- 
ment to  persuade  them  you're  innocent.  I " 


SECRETS  183 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  stammered,  incredulously,  find- 
ing hesitant  words  at  last,  "Do  you  mean  you're  a — a 
spy?  That  you  came  to  our  house — that  you  ate  our 
bread — with  the  idea  of  learning  secrets  that  might 

injure  us?    That  you ?    Oh!"  she  burst  forth  in 

swift  revulsion,  "I  didn't  know  any  one  could  be  so 
_so  vile!    I " 

"Wait !"  he  commanded,  sharply,  wincing  neverthe- 
less under  the  sick  scorn  in  her  voice  and  words.  "You 
have  no  right  to  say  that.  I  am  not  a  spy.  Or  if  I 
am,  then  every  police  officer  and  every  detective  and 
every  cross-examining  lawyer  is  a  spy !  I  am  an  offi- 
cial in  the  United  States  Secret  Service.  I,  and  others 
like  me,  try  to  guard  the  welfare  of  our  country  and 
to  expose  or  thwart  persons  who  are  that  country's 
enemies  or  who  are  working  to  injure  its  interests.  If 
that  is  being  a  spy,  then  I'm  content  to  be  one.  I " 

"If  you  are  driven  to  such  despicable  work  by 
poverty,"  she  said,  unconsciously  seeking  excuse  for 
him,  "if  it  is  the  only  trade  you  know — then  I  suppose 
you  can't  help " 

"No,"  he  said,  unwilling  to  let  her  gain  even  this 
false  impression.  "My  grandfather,  who  brought  me 
up — who  owned  the  place  I  spoke  of,  near  Coconut 
Grove — left  me  enough  to  live  on  in  pretty  fair  com- 
fort. I  could  have  been  an  idler  if  I  chose.  I  didn't 
choose.  I  wanted  work.  And  I  wanted  adventure. 
That  was  why  I  went  into  the  Secret  Service.  I 
stayed  in  it  till  I  went  overseas;  and  I  came  back  to 
it  after  the  war.  I  wasn't  driven  into  it  by  poverty. 
It's  an  honorable  profession.  There  are  hundreds  of 


184         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

honorable  men  in  it.  You  probably  know  some  of 
them.  They  are  in  all  walks  of  life;  from  Fifth  Ave- 
nue to  the  slums.  They  are  working  patriotically  for 
the  welfare  of  the  land  they  love ;  and  they  are  working 
for  pitifully  small  reward.  It  is  not  like  the  Secret 
Service  of  Germany  or  of  oldtime  Russia.  It  upholds 
Democracy;  not  Tyranny.  And  I'm  proud  to  be  a 
member  of  it.  At  least,  I  was.  Now,  there  is  nothing 
left  to  me  but  to  resign.  It " 

"You  haven't  even  the  excuse  of  poverty!"  she  ex- 
claimed, confusedly.  "And  you  have  not  even  the 
grace  to  feel  ashamed  for — for  your  black  ingratitude 
in  tricking  us  into  giving  you  shelter  and " 

"I  think  I  paid  my  bill  for  that,  to  some  slight  ex- 
tent," was  his  dry  rejoinder.  "But  for  my  'trickery,' 
your  half-brother  would  be  dead,  by  now.  As  for 
'ingratitude,'  how  about  the  trick  he  served  me,  to- 
day? Even  if  he  didn't  know  Hade  had  smuggled 
across  a  bagful  of  his  pet  moccasins  to  Roke,  yet  he 
let  me  be  trapped  into  that " 

"It's  only  in  the  Devil's  Ledger,  that  two  wrongs 
make  a  right!"  she  flamed.  "I  grant  my  brother 
treated  you  abominably.  But  his  excuse  was  that 
your  presence  might  ruin  his  great  ambition  in  life. 
Your  only  excuse  for  doing  what  you  have  done  is  the 
— the  foul  instinct  of  the  man-hunt.  The " 

"The  criminal-hunt,"  he  corrected  her,  trying  not 
to  writhe  under  her  hot  contempt.  "The  enemy-to-man 
hunt,  if  you  like.  Your  half-brother " 

"My  brother  is  not  a  criminal !"  she  cried,  furiously. 


SECRETS  185 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  so.  He  has  committed  no 
crime.  He  has  broken  no  law." 

Again  he  looked  down,  searchingly,  into  her  angry 
little  face,  as  it  confronted  him  so  fiercely  in  the  star- 
light. And  he  knew  she  was  sincere. 

"Miss  Standish,"  he  said,  slowly.  "You  believe  you 
are  telling  the  truth.  Your  half-brother  understood 
you  too  well  to  let  you  know  what  he  was  really  up  to. 
He  and  Hade  concocted  some  story — I  don't  know 
what — to  explain  to  you  the  odd  things  going  on  in 
and  around  your  home.  You  are  innocent.  And  you 
are  ignorant.  It  cuts  me  like  a  knife  to  have  to  open 
your  eyes  to  all  this.  But,  in  a  very  few  days,  at  most, 
you  are  bound  to  know." 

"If  you  think  I'll  believe  a  word  against  my  brother 
—especially  from  a  self-confessed  spy " 

"No?"  said  Gavin.  "And  you're  just  as  sure  of 
Rodney  Hade's  noble  uprightness  as  of  your  broth- 
er's?" 

"I'm  not  defending  Rodney  Hade,"  said  Claire.  "He 
is  nothing  to  me,  one  way  or  the  other.  He " 

"Pardon  me,"  interposed  Brice.  "He  is  a  great  deal 
to  you.  You  hate  him  and  you  are  in  mortal  fear  of 
him." 

"If  you  spied  that  out,  too " 

"I  did,"  he  admitted.  "I  did  it,  in  the  half-minute 
I  saw  you  and  him  together,  last  evening.  I  saw  a 
look  in  your  eyes — I  heard  a  tone  in  your  voice — as 
you  turned  to  introduce  me  to  him — that  told  me  all 
I  needed  to  know.  And,  incidentally,  it  made  me  want 
to  smash  him.  Apart  from  that — well,  the  Department 


186         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

knows  a  good  deal  about  Rodney  Hade.  And  it  sus- 
pects a  great  deal  more.  It  knows,  among  minor  things, 
that  he  schemed  to  make  Milo  Standish  plunge  so 
heavily  on  certain  worthless  stocks  that  Standish  went 
broke  and  in  desperation  raised  a  check  of  Hade's — 
(and  did  it  rather  badly;  as  Hade  had  foreseen  he 
would,  when  he  set  the  trap) — in  order  to  cover  his 
margins.  It " 

"No!"  she  cried,  in  wrathful  refusal  to  believe. 
"That  is  not  true.  It  can't  be  true!  It  is  a " 

"Hade  holds  a  mortgage  on  everything  Standish 
owns,"  resumed  Brice,  "and  he  has  held  that  raised 
check  over  him  as  a  prison-menace.  He " 

"Stop!"  demanded  Claire,  ablaze  with  righteous  in- 
dignation, "If  you  have  such  charges  to  make  against 
my  brother,  are  you  too  much  of  a  coward  to  come  to 
his  house  with  me,  now,  and  make  them  to  his  face? 
Are  you?" 

"No,"  he  said,  without  a  trace  of  unwillingness  or 
of  bravado.  "I  am  not.  I'll  go  there,  with  you,  gladly. 
In  the  meantime " 

"In  the  meantime,"  she  caught  him  up,  "please  don't 
speak  to  me.  And  please  sit  in  the  other  end  of  the 
boat,  if  you  don't  mind.  The  air  will  be  easier  to 
breathe  if " 

"Certainly,"  he  assented,  making  his  way  to  the  far 
end  of  the  launch,  while  she  seized  the  neglected  steer- 
ing wheel  again.  "And  I  am  sorrier  than  I  can  say, 
that  I  have  had  to  tell  you  all  this.  If  it  were  not 
that  you  must  know  it,  soon,  anyway,  I'd  have  bitten 


SECRETS  187 

my  tongue  out,  sooner  than  make  you  so  unhappy. 
Please  believe  that,  won't  you?" 

There  was  an  earnest  depth  of  contrition  in  his  voice 
that  checked  the  icy  retort  she  had  been  about  to  make. 
And,  emboldened  by  her  silence,  he  went  on: 

"Hade  needed  your  brother  and  the  use  of  your 
brother's  house  and  land.  He  needed  them,  impera- 
tively, for  the  scheme  he  was  trying  to  swing.  .  .  . 
That  was  why  he  got  Standish  into  his  power,  in  the 
first  place.  That  was  why  he  forced  or  wheedled  him 
into  this  partnership.  The  Standish  house  was  built 
— in  its  original  form — more  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 
In  the  days  when  Dade  County  and  all  this  end  of 
Florida  were  in  hourly  dread  of  Seminole  raids  from 
the  Everglade  country ;  and  where  every  settler's  house 
must  be  not  only  his  castle,  but " 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  to  remind  you,"  she  broke  in, 
freezingly,  "that  I  asked  you  not  to  speak  to  me, 
Surely  you  can  have  at  least  that  much  chivalry; — 
when  I  am  helpless  to  get  out  of  hearing  from  you. 
You  say  you  are  willing  to  confront  my  brother  with 
this — this — ridiculous  charge.  Very  well.  Till  then, 
I  hope  you  won't " 

"All  right,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "And  I  don't  blame 
you.  I'm  a  bungler,  when  it  somes  to  saying  things  to 
women.  I  don't  know  so  very  much  about  them.  I've 
read  that  no  man  really  understands  women.  And  cer- 
tainly 7  don't  By  the  way,  the  boat's  run  opposite  that 
spit  of  beach  at  the  bottom  of  your  mangrove  swamp. 
If  you're  in  a  hurry,  you  can  land  there ;  and  we  can  go 


188         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

to  the  house  by  way  of  the  hidden  path.     It  will  cut 
off  a  mile  or  so.    You  have  a  flashlight.    So " 

He  let  his  voice  trail  away ;  frozen  to  silence  by  the 
rigidly  hostile  little  figure  outlined  at  the  other  end  of 
the  boat  by  the  tumble  of  phosphorus  in  their  wake. 

Claire  roused  herself,  from  a  gloomy  reverie,  enough 
to  shift  the  course  of  the  craft  and  to  head  it  for  the 
dim-seen  sandspit  that  was  backed  by  the  ebony  dark- 
ness of  the  mangrove  swamp. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  again,  until,  with  a  swishing 
sound  and  a  soft  grate  of  the  light-draught  boat, 
the  keel  clove  its  way  into  the  offshore  sand  and  the 
craft  came  to  coughing  halt  twenty  feet  from  land. 

Claire  roused  herself,  from  a  gloomy  reverie  in 
which  she  had  fallen.  Subconsciously,  she  had  ac- 
cepted the  man's  suggestion  that  they  take  the  short  cut. 
And  she  had  steered  thither,  forgetful  that  there  was 
no  dock  and  no  suitable  landing  place  for  even  so  light 
a  boat  anywhere  along  the  patch  of  sandy  foreshore. 

Now,  fast  aground,  she  saw  her  absent-minded 
error.  And  she  jumped  to  her  feet,  vainly  reversing 
the  engine  in  an  effort  to  back  free  of  the  sand  wherein 
the  prow  had  wedged  itself  so  tightly.  But  Gavin 
Brice  had  already  taken  charge  of  the  situation. 

Stepping  overside  into  the  shallow  water,  he  picked 
up  the  astounded  and  vainly  protesting  girl,  bodily; 
holding  her  close  to  him  with  one  arm ;  while,  with  his 
free  hand  he  caught  the  painter  and  dragged  the  boat 
behind  him  into  water  too  low  for  it  to  float  off  until 
the  change  of  tide. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  bare  ten  seconds ;  from  the  time 


SECRETS  189 

he  stepped  into  the  shallows  until  he  had  brought 
Claire  to  the  "dry  sand  of  the  beach. 

"Set  me  down!"  she  was  demanding  sternly,  for  the 
third  time,  as  she  struggled  with  futile  repugnance  to 
slip  from  his  gently  firm  grip.  "I " 

"Certainly,"  acquiesced  Gavin,  lowering  her  to  the 
sand,  and  steadying  her  for  an  instant,  until  her  feet 
could  find  their  balance.  "Only  please  don't  glare  at 
me  as  though  I  had  struck  you.  I  didn't  think  you'd 
want  to  get  those  little  white  shoes  of  yours  all  wet. 
So  I  took  the  liberty  of  carrying  you.  My  own  shoes, 
and  all  the  rest  of  me,  are  drenched  beyond  cure,  any- 
how. So  another  bit  of  immersion  didn't  do  me  any 
harm." 

He  spoke  in  a  careless,  matter-of-fact  manner;  and 
as  he  talked  he  was  leading  the  way  up  the  short  beach, 
toward  the  northernmost  edge  of  the  mangrove  swamp. 
Claire  could  not  well  take  further  offence  at  a  service 
which  apparently  had  been  rendered  to  her  out  of  the 
merest  common  politeness.  So,  after  another  icy  look 
at  his  unconscious  back,  she  followed  wordlessly  in 
Brice's  wake. 

Now  that  he  was  on  dry  land  again  and  on  his  way 
to  the  house  where,  at  the  very  least,  a  stormy  scene 
might  be  expected,  the  man's  spirits  seemed  to  rise, 
almost  boyishly.  The  blood  was  running  again  through 
his  veins.  The  cool  night  air  was  drying  his  soaked 
clothes.  The  prospect  of  possible  adventure  stirred 
him. 

Blithely  he  sought  the  shoreward  entrance  to  the 
hidden  path,  by  the  mental  notes  he  had  made  of  its 


190         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

exact  whereabouts  when  Bobby  Burns  had  happened 
upon  its  secret.  And,  in  another  half -minute  he  had 
drawn  aside  the  screen  of  growing  boughs  and  was 
standing  aside  for  Claire  to  enter  the  path. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  impersonally,  "this  path 
is  a  very  nice  little  mystery.  But,  like  most  mysteries, 
it  is  quite  simple,  when  once  you  know  your  way  in  and 
out  of  it.  I  knew  where  it  was  when  I  was  a  kid,  but 
I  couldn't  remember  the  spot  where  it  came  out,  here. 
Back  yonder,  a  bit  to  northward,  I  came  upon  Roke,  yes- 
terday. I  gather  he  had  been  visiting  your  house  or 
Hade's ;  by  way  of  the  hidden  path ;  and  was  on  his  way 
back  to  his  boat,  to  return  to  Roustabout  Key ;  when  he 
happened  upon  Bobby  Burns — and  then  on  me.  He  must 
have  wondered  where  I  vanished  to.  For  he  couldn't 
have  seen  me  enter  the  path.  Maybe  he  mentioned  that 
to  Hade,  too,  this  afternoon.  If  Hade  thought  I  knew 
the  path,  he'd  think  I  knew  a  good  deal  more.  .  .  . 
By  the  way,"  he  added,  to  the  ostentatiously  unlisten- 
ing  Claire,  "that's  the  second  time  you've  stumbled. 
And  both  times,  you  were  too  far  ahead  for  me  to 
catch  you.  This  is  the  best  part  of  the  path,  too — 
the  straightest  and  the  least  dark  part.  If  we  stumble 
here,  we'll  tumble,  farther  on,  unless  you  use  that 
flashlight  of  yours.  May  I  trouble  you  to ?" 

"I  forgot,"  she  said  stiffly,  as  she  drew  the  torch 
from  her  pocket  and  pressed  its  button. 

The  dense  black  of  the  swamp  was  split  by  the  light's 
white  sword ;  and  softer  beams  from  its  sharp  radiance 
illumined  the  pitch-dark  gloom  for  a  few  yards  to 
either  side  of  the  tortuous  path.  The  shadows  of  the 


SECRETS  191 

man  and  the  woman  were  cast  in  monstrous  grotesquely 
floating  shapes  behind  them  as  they  moved  forward. 

"This  is  a  cheery  rambling-place,"  commented  Gavin. 
"I  wonder  if  you  know  its  history?  I  mean,  of  course, 
before  Standish  had  it  recut  and  jacked  up  and  bridged, 
and  all  that?  This  path  dates  back  to  the  house's  first 
owners — in  the  Seminole  days  I  was  telling  you  about. 
They  made  it  as  a  quick  getaway,  to  the  water,  in  case 
a  war-party  of  Seminoles  should  drop  in  on  them  from 
the  Everglades.  I  came  through  here,  once — oh,  it 
must  be  twenty  years  ago — I  was  a  school-kid,  at  the 
time.  An  old  Seminole  chief,  with  the  picturesque  In- 
dian name  of  Aleck,  showed  it  to  me.  His  dad  once 
cut  off  a  party  of  refugees,  somewhere  along  here,  on 
their  way  to  the  sea;  and  deleted  them.  Several  of 
the  modern  Seminoles  knew  the  path,  he  said.  But 
almost  no  white  men.  .  .  .  Get  that  queer  odor,  and 
that  flapping  sound  over  to  the  left  ?  That  was  a  'gator. 
And  he  seems  to  be  fairly  big  and  alive,  from  the  racket 
he  made.  Lucky  we're  on  the  path  and  not  in  the  un- 
dergrowth or  the  water!" 

He  talked  on,  as  though  not  in  the  least  concerned 
as  to  whether  or  not  she  might  hear  or  heed.  And, 
awed  by  the  gruesome  stillness  and  gloom  of  the  place, 
Claire  had  not  the  heart  to  bid  him  be  silent.  Any 
sound  was  better,  she  toM  herself,  than  the  dead 
noiselessness  of  the  surrounding  forest. 

"That's  the  tenth  mosquito  I've  missed,"  cheerily 
resumed  Brice,  slapping  futilely  at  his  own  cheek.  "In 
the  old  days,  they  used  to  infest  Miami.  Now  they're 
driven  back  into  the  swamps.  But  they  seem  just  as 


192         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

industrious  as  ever;  and  every  bit  as  hungry.  It  must 
be  grand  to  have  such  an  appetite." 

As  Claire  disregarded  this  flippancy,  he  fell  silent, 
for  a  space;  and  together  they  moved  on,  through  the 
thick  of  the  swamp.  Then 

"There's  something  I've  been  trying  to  figure  out," 
he  recommenced,  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to 
Claire.  "There  must  be  some  sort  of  sense  to  all  the 
signaling  Hade  does  when  he  comes  out  of  this  swamp, 
onto  your  lawn.  If  it  was  only  that  he  doesn't  want 
casual  visitors  to  know  he  has  come  that  way,  he  could 
just  as  well  go  around  by  the  road  to  the  south  of  the 
swamp;  and  come  openly  to  the  house,  by  the  front. 
And,  if  things  are  to  be  moved  to  or  from  the  house, 
they  could  go  by  road,  at  night,  as  well  as  through  here. 
There  must  be  something  more  to  it  all.  And,  I  have 
an  idea  I  know  what  it  is.  ...  That  enclosed  space, 
with  the  high  palings  and  the  vines  all  over  it,  to  the 
north  of  your  house; — I  think  you  said  that  was  a 
little  walled  orchard  where  Standish  is  experimenting 
on  some  'ideal'  orange ;  and  that  he  is  so  jealous  of  the 
secret  process  that  he  won't  even  let  you  set  foot  in  it. 
The  funny  part  of  it  is: " 

He  stopped  short.  Claire  had  been  walking  a  few 
yards  in  advance ;  and  they  had  come  out  on  the  widest 
part  of  the  trail,  about  midway  through  the  woods. 
To  one  side  of  the  beaten  path  was  a  tiny  clearing. 
This  clearing  was  strewn  thick  with  a  tangle  of  fallen 
undergrowth,  scarce  two  feet  high  at  most. 

And  they  reached  it,  the  girl  gave  a  little  cry  of 
fright  and  stepped  back,  her  hands  reaching  blindly 


SECRETS  193 

toward  Gavin,  as  if  for  support  or  comfort  The 
gesture  caused  her  to  drop  the  flashlight.  Its  button 
was  "set  forward,"  so  it  did  not  go  out  as  it  fell  In- 
stead, it  rolled  in  a  semi-circle,  casting  its  ray  momen- 
tarily in  a  wide  irregular  arc  as  it  revolved.  Then  it 
came  to  a  stop,  against  an  outcrop  of  coral,  with  a  force 
that  put  its  sensitive  bulb  permanently  out  of  business. 

But,  during  that  brief  circular  roll  of  the  light, 
Gavin  Brice  caught  the  most  fleeting  glimpse  of  the 
sight  that  had  caused  Claire  to  cry  out  and  shrink  back 
against  him. 

He  had  seen,  for  the  merest  fraction  of  a  second,  the 
upper  half  of  a  man's  body — thickset  and  hairy, — up- 
right, on  a  level  with  the  ground;  as  though  it  had 
been  cut  in  two  and  the  legless  trunk  set  up  there. 

By  the  time  Brice's  eyes  could  focus  fairly  upon 
this  very  impossible  sight,  the  half -body  had  begun 
to  recede  rapidly  into  the  earth,  like  that  of  an  angle- 
work  which  a  robin  pulls  halfway  out  of  the  lawn  and 
then  loses  its  grip  on. 

In  practically  the  same  instant,  the  rolling  ray  of 
light  moved  past  the  amazing  spectacle;  and  less  than 
a  second  later  bumped  against  the  fragment  of  coral 
— the  bump  which  smashed  its  bulb  and  left  the  two 
wanderers  in  total  darkness  for  the  remainder  of  their 
strange  pilgrimage. 

Claire,  momentarily  unstrung,  caught  Gavin  by  the 
arm  and  clung  to  him.  He  could  feel  the  shudder  of 
her  slender  body  as  it  pressed  to  his  side  for  protec- 
tion. 

"What — what  was  it?"  she  whispered,  tremblingly. 


194         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

"What  was  it?  Did  I  really  see  it?  It — it  couldn't 
be !  It  looked — it  looked  like  a — a  body  that  had  been 
cut  in  half — and — and " 

"It's  all  right,"  he  whispered,  reassuringly;  pass- 
ing his  arm  unchidden  about  her  slight  waist.  "Don't 
be  frightened,  dear!  It  wasn't  a  man  cut  in  half.  It 
was  the  upper  half  of  a  man  who  was  wiggling  down 
into  a  tunnel  hidden  by  that  smother  of  underbrush. 
.  .  .  And  here  I  was  just  wondering  why  people 
should  bother  to  come  all  the  way  through  this  path, 
instead  of  skirting  the  woods!  Answers  furnished 
while  you  wait!" 

Before  he  spoke,  however,  he  had  strained  his  ears 
to  listen.  And  the  quick  receding  and  then  cessation  of 
the  sound  of  the  scrambling  body  in  the  tunnel  had 
told  him  the  seen  half  and  the  unseen  half  of  the  in- 
truder had  alike  vanished  beyond  earshot,  far  under 
ground. 

"But  what ?"  began  the  frightened  girl. 

Then  she  realized  for  the  first  time  that  she  was 
holding  fast  to  the  man  whom  she  had  forbidden  to 
speak  to  her.  And  she  relinquished  her  tight  clasp  on 
his  arm. 

"Stand  where  you  are,  a  minute,"  he  directed.  "He's 
gone.  There's  no  danger.  He  was  as  afraid  of  us 
as  you  were  of  him.  He  ducked,  like  a  mud-turtle, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  we  weren't  the  people  he  expected. 
Stay  here,  please.  And  face  this  way.  That's  the 
direction  we  were  going  in ;  and  we  don't  want  to  get 
turned  around.  I've  got  to  crawl  about,  on  all  fours, 


SECRETS  195 

for  a  while,  in  the  merry  quest  of  the  flashlight.  I 
know  just  about  where  it  stopped." 

She  could  hear  him  groping  amid  the  looser  under- 
growth. Then  he  got  to  his  feet. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  reported.  "But  it  wasn't  worth 
hunting  for.  The  bulb's  gone  bad.  We'll  have  to  walk 
the  rest  of  the  way,  by  faith.  Would  you  mind,  very 
much,  taking  my  arm?  The  path's  wide  enough  for 
that,  from  here  on.  It  needn't  imply  that  you've  con- 
doned anything  I  said  to  you,  out  yonder  in  the  boat, 
you  know.  But  it  may  save  you  from  a  stumble.  I'm 
fairly  sure-footed.  And  I'm  used  to  this  sort  of 
travel." 

Meekly,  she  obeyed;  wondering  at  her  own  queer 
sense  of  peace  under  the  protection  of  this  man  whom 
she  told  herself  she  detested.  The  wiry  strength  of 
the  arm,  around  which  her  white  fingers  closed  so  con- 
fidingly, thrilled  her.  Against  her  will,  she  all  at  once 
lost  her  sense  of  repulsion  and  the  wrath  she  had  been 
storing  against  him.  Nor,  by  her  very  best  efforts, 
could  she  revive  her  righteous  displeasure. 

"Mr.  Brice,"  she  said,  timidly,  as  he  guided  her 
with  swiftly  steady  step  through  the  dense  blackness, 
"perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  speak  as  I  did.  If  I  did 
you  an  injustice " 

"Don't!"  he  bade  her,  cutting  short  her  halting 
apology.  "You  mustn't  be  sorry  for  anything.  And 
I'd  have  bitten  out  my  tongue  sooner  than  tell  you 
the  things  I  had  to; — if  it  weren't  that  you'd  have 
heard  them,  soon  enough,  in  an  even  less  palatable 
form.  Only — won't  you  please  try  not  to  feel  quite  as 


196         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

much  toward  me  as  I  felt  toward  those  snakes  of 
Hade's,  this  afternoon?  You  have  a  right  to,  of 
course.  But — well,  it  makes  me  sorry  I  ever  escaped 
from  there." 

The  sincerity,  the  boyish  contrition  in  his  voice, 
touched  her,  unaccountably.  And,  on  impulse,  she 
spoke. 

"I  asked  you  to  say  those  things  about  Milo,  to  his 
face,"  she  began,  hesitantly.  "I  did  that,  because  I 
was  angry; — because  I  didn't  believe  a  word  of  them, 
and  because  I  wanted  to  see  you  punished  for  slander- 
ing my  brother.  I — I  still  don't  believe  a  single  word 
of  them.  But  I  believe  you  told  them  to  me  in  good 
faith,  and  that  you  were  misinformed  by  the  Federal 
agents  who  cooked  up  the  absurd  story.  And — and  I 
don't  want  to  see  you  punished,  Mr.  Brice,"  she  fal- 
tered, unconsciously  tightening  her  clasp  on  his  arm. 
"Milo  is  terribly  strong.  And  his  temper  is  so  quick! 
He  might  nearly  kill  you.  Take  me  as  far  as  the  end 
of  the  path ;  and  then  go  across  the  lawn  to  the  road, 
instead  of  coming  in.  Please  do!" 

"That  is  sweet  of  you,"  said  Gavin,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  wherein  his  desire  to  laugh  struggled  with  a  far 
deeper  and  more  potent  emotion.  "But,  if  it's  just  the 
same  to  you,  I'd  rather " 

"But  he  is  double  your  size,"  she  protested,  "and 
he  is  as  strong  as  Samson.  Why,  Roke,  over  at  the 
Key,  is  said  to  be  the  only  man  who  ever  outwrestled 
him !  And  Roke  has  the  strength  of  a  gorilla." 

Gavin  Brice  smiled  grimly  to  himself  in  the  dark- 
ness, as  he  recalled  his  own  test  of  prowess  with  Roke. 


SECRETS  197 

"I  don't  think  he'll  hurt  me — overmuch,"  said  he. 
"I  thank  you,  just  the  same.  It  makes  me  very  happy 
to  know  you  aren't " 

"Mr.  Brice!"  she  cried,  in  desperation.  "Unless 
you  promise  me  not  to  do  as  I  dared  you  to — I  shall 
not  let  you  go  a  step  farther  with  me.  I " 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  let  me  take  you  the  rest 
of  the  way,  Miss  Standish,"  he  said,  a  sterner  note  in 
his  voice  quelling  her  protest  and  setting  her  to  won- 
dering. "If  you  like,  we  can  postpone  my  talk  with 
Standish  about  the  check-raising.  But — if  you  care 
anything  for  him,  you'd  best  let  me  go  to  him  as  fast 
as  we  can  travel." 

"Why?     Is ?" 

"Unless  I  read  wrongly  what  we  saw,  back  yonder 
in  the  clearing,"  he  said,  cryptically,  "your  brother  is 
in  sore  need  of  every  friend  he  can  muster.  I  had  only 
a  glimpse  of  our  subterranean  half-man.  But  there 
was  a  gash  across  his  eyebrow,  and  a  mass  of  bruises 
on  his  throat.  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  I  put  them  there. 
That  was  the  man  who  tried  to  knife  Standish,  last 
evening.  And,  unless  I've  misread  the  riddle  of  that 
tunnel,  we'll  be  lucky  to  get  there  in  time.  There's 
trouble  ahead.  All  sorts  of  trouble." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SIEGE 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SIEGE 

TROUBLE?"  repeated  Claire,  questioningly. 
"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean  I've  pieced  it  out,  partly  from  reports  and 
partly  from  my  own  deductions  and  from  the  sight 
of  that  man,  back  there,"  said  Brice.  "I  may  be 
wrong  in  all  or  in  part  of  it.  But  I  don't  think  I  am. 
I  figure  that  that  chap  we  saw  half  under  ground,  is 
one  of  a  clique  or  gang  that  is  after  something  which 
Standish  and  Hade  have — or  that  these  fellows  think 
Hade  and  Standish  have.  I  figure  they  think  your 
brother  has  wronged  them  in  some  way  and  that  they 
are  even  more  keen  after  him  than  after  Hade.  That, 
or  else  they  think  if  they  could  put  him  out  of  the  way, 
they  could  get  the  thing  they  are  after.  That  or  both 
reasons." 

"He " 

"I  learned  that  Standish  has  hired  special  police  to 
patrol  the  main  road,  after  dark,  under  plea  that  he's 
afraid  tramps  might  trespass  on  his  groves.  But  he 
didn't  dare  hire  them  to  patrol  his  grounds  for  fear  of 
what  they  might  chance  to  stumble  on.  And,  naturally, 
he  couldn't  have  them  or  any  one  patrol  the  hidden 
path.  That's  the  reason  he  armed  you  and  told  you  to 

201 


202         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

look  out  for  any  one  coming  that  way.  That's  why 
you  held  me  up,  when  I  came  through  here,  yesterday. 
These  must  be  people  you  know  by  sight.  For  you  told 
me  you  took  me  for  some  one  else.  This  chap,  back 
yonder,  knows  the  hidden  path.  And  now  it  seems  he 
knows  the  tunnel,  too.  If  I'm  right  in  thinking  that 
tunnel  leads  to  the  secret  orchard  enclosure,  back  of 
your  house,  then  I  fancy  Standish  may  be  visited, 
during  the  next  half  hour.  And,  unless  I'm  mistaken, 
I  heard  more  than  one  set  of  bare  feet  scurrying  down 
that  tunnel  just  now.  Our  friend  with  the  bashed-in 
face  was  apparently  the  last  of  several  men  to  slip  into 
the  tunnel ;  and  we  happened  along  as  he  was  doing  it. 
If  he  recognized  you  and  saw  you  had  a  man  as  an 
escort,  he  must  know  we're  bound  for  your  house. 
And  he  and  the  rest  are  likely  to  hurry  to  get  there 
ahead  of  us.  That's  why  I've  been  walking  you  off 
your  feet,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  ever  since  we  left 
him." 

"I — I  only  saw  him  for  the  tiniest  part  of  a  second," 
said  Claire,  glancing  nervously  through  the  darkness 
behind  her.  "And  yet  I'm  almost  sure  he  was  a  Caesar. 
He " 

"A  Caesar?"  queried  Gavin,  in  real  perplexity. 

"That's  the  name  the  Floridian  fishermen  give  to 
the  family  who  live  on  Caesar's  Estuary,"  she  ex- 
plained, almost  impatiently.  "The  inlet  that  runs  up 
into  the  mangroves,  south  of  Caesar's  Rock  and 
Caesar's  Creek.  Caesar  was  an  oldtime  pirate,  you 
know.  These  people  claim  to  be  descended  from  him ; 
and  they  claim  squatter's  rights  on  a  tract  of  marsh- 


THE  SIEGE  203 

and-mangrove  land  down  there.  They  call  them- 
selves all  one  family ;  but  it  is  more  like  a  clan.  Black 
Caesar's  clan.  They  have  intermarried  and  others  have 
joined  them.  It's  a  sort  of  community.  They're 
really  little  better  than  conchs;  though  they  fight  any 
one  who  calls  them  conchs." 

"But  what ?" 

"Oh,  Milo  and  Rodney  Hade  leased  some  land  from 
the  government,  down  there.  And  that  started  the 
trouble." 

Brice  whistled,  softly. 

"I  see,"  said  he.  "I  gather  there  had  been  rumors 
of  treasure,  among  the  Caesars — there  always  are, 
along  the  coast,  here — and  the  Caesars  hadn't  the  wit 
to  find  the  stuff.  They  wouldn't  have.  But  they 
guarded  the  place  and  always  hoped  to  trip  over  the 
treasure  some  day.  Regarded  it  as  their  own,  and  all 
that.  'Proprietary  rights'  theory,  passed  on  from 
fathers  to  sons.  Then  Standish  and  Hade  leased  the 
land,  having  gotten  a  better  hint  as  to  where  the 
treasure  was.  And  that  got  the  Caesars  riled.  Then 
the  Caesars  get  an  inkling  that  Standish  and  Hade  have 
actually  located  the  treasure  and  are  sneaking  it  to 
Standish's  house,  bit  by  bit.  And  then  they  go  still- 
hunting  for  the  despoilers  and  for  their  ancestral 
hoard." 

"Why !"  cried  Claire,  astounded.  "That's  the  very 
thing  you  stopped  me  from  telling  you!  If  you  knew, 
all  the  time " 

"I  didn't,"  denied  Brice.  "What  you  said,  just 
now,  about  the  Caesars,  gave  me  the  clew.  The  rest 


204         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

was  simple  enough,  to  any  one  who  knew  of  the  treas- 
ure's existence.  There's  one  thing,  though,  that 
puzzles  me — a  thing  that's  none  of  my  business,  of 
course.  I  can  understand  how  Standish  could  have 
told  you  he  and  Hade  had  stumbled  onto  a  hatful  of 
treasure,  down  there,  somewhere,  among  the  bayous 
and  mangrove-choked  inlets.  And  I  can  understand 
how  the  idea  of  treasure-hunting  must  have  stirred 
you.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  this: — When 
Standish  found  the  Caesars  were  gunning  for  him, 
why  in  blue  blazes  did  he  content  himself  with  telling 
you  of  it?  Why  didn't  he  send  you  away,  out  of  any 
possible  danger?  Why  didn't  he  insist  on  your  run- 
ning into  Miami,  to  the  Royal  Palm  or  some  lesser 
hotel;  till  the  rumpus  was  all  over?  Even  if  he 
didn't  think  the  government  knew  anything  about  the 
deal,  he  knew  the  Caesars  did.  And " 

"He  wanted  me  to  go  to  Miami,"  she  said.  "He 
even  wanted  me  to  go  North.  But  I  wouldn't.  I  was 
tremendously  thrilled  over  it  all.  It  was  as  exciting 
as  a  melodrama.  And  I  insisted  on  staying  in  the 
thick  of  it.  I — I  still  don't  see  what  concern  it  is  of 
the  United  States  Government,"  she  went  on,  rebel- 
liously,  "if  two  men  find,  on  their  own  leased  land,  a 
cache  of  the  plunder  stolen  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago  by  the  pirate,  Caesar.  It  is  treasure  trove.  And  it 
seems  to  me  they  had  a  perfect  right " 

"Have  you  seen  any  of  this  treasure?"  interposed 
Brice. 

"No,"  she  admitted.  "Once  or  twice,  bags  of  it 
have  been  brought  into  the  house,  very  late  at  night. 


THE  SIEGE  205 

But  Milo  explained  to  me  it  had  to  be  taken  away  again, 
right  off;  for  fear  of  fire  or  thieves  or " 

"And  you  don't  know  where  it  was  taken  to?" 

"No.  Except  that  Rodney  has  been  shipping  it 
North.  But  they  promised  me  that  as  soon " 

"I  see !"  he  answered,  as  a  stumble  over  a  root  cut 
short  her  words  and  made  her  cling  to  him  more 
tightly.  "You  are  an  ideal  sister.  You'd  be  an  ideal 
wife  for  a  scoundrel.  You  would  be  a  godsend  to 
any  one  with  phoney  stock  to  sell.  Your  credulity  is 
perfect.  And  your  feminine  curiosity  is  under  lots 
better  control  than  most  women's.  I  suppose  they 
told  you  this  so-called  treasure  is  in  the  form  of  ingots 
and  nuggets  and  pieces-of-eight  and  jewels-so-rich-and- 
rare,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  bag  of  tricks  borrowed  from 
Stevenson's  'Treasure  Island'  ?  They  would !" 

She  showed  her  disrelish  for  his  flippant  tone,  by 
removing  her  hand  from  his  arm.  But  at  once  the 
faint  hiss  of  a  snake  as  it  glided  into  the  swamp  from 
somewhere  just  in  front  of  them  made  her  clutch  his 
wet  sleeve  afresh.  His  hints  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
treasure  had  roused  her  inquisitiveness  to  a  keen 
point.  Yet,  remembering  what  he  had  said  about  her 
praiseworthy  dearth  of  feminine  curiosity,  she  ap- 
proached the  subject  in  a  roundabout  way. 

"If  it  isn't  gold  bars  and  jewels  and  old  Spanish 
coins,  and  so  forth,"  said  she,  seeking  to  copy  his 
bantering  tone,  "then  I  suppose  it  is  illicit  whiskey? 
It  would  be  a  sickening  anticlimax  to  find  they  were 
liquor-smugglers." 

"No,"  Brice  reasured  her,  "neither  Standish  nor 


206         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

Hade  is  a  bootlegger — nor  anything  so  petty.  That's 
too  small  game  for  them.  Though,  in  some  parts  of 
southern  Florida,  bootleggers  are  so  thick  that  they 
have  to  wear  red  buttons  in  their  lapels,  to  keep  from 
trying  to  sell  liquor  to  each  other.  No,  the  treasure  is 
considerably  bigger  than  booze  or  any  other  form  of 

smuggling.  It Hello!"  he  broke  off.  "There's 

your  lawn,  right  ahead  of  us.  I  can  see  patches  of 
starlight  through  that  elaborate  vine-screen  draped 
so  cleverly  over  the  head  of  the  path.  Now,  listen, 
Miss  Standish.  I  am  going  to  the  house.  But  first 
I  am  going  to  see  you  to  the  main  road.  That  road's 
patroled ; '  and  it's  safe  from  the  gentle  Caesars.  I 
want  you  to  go  there  and  then  make  your  way  to  the 
nearest  neighbor's.  If  there  is  any  mixup,  we'll  want 
you  as  far  out  of  it  as  possible." 

As  he  spoke,  he  held  aside  the  curtain  of  vines,  for 
her  to  step  out  onto  the  starlit  lawn.  A  salvo  of  bark- 
ing sounded  from  the  veranda ;  and  Bobby  Burns,  who 
had  been  lying  disconsolately  on  the  steps,  came 
bounding  across  the  lawn,  in  rapture,  at  scent  and  step 
of  the  man  he  had  chosen  as  his  god. 

"Good!"  muttered  Brice,  stooping  to  pat  the  fran- 
tically delighted  collie.  "If  he  was  drowsing  there,  it's 
a  sign  no  intruders  have  tried  to  get  into  the  house 
yet.  He's  been  here  a  day.  And  that's  long  enough 
for  a  dog  like  Bobby  to  learn  the  step  and  the  scent 
of  the  people  who  have  a  right  here  and  to  resent  any 
one  who  doesn't  belong.  Now,  what's  the  shortest  way 
to  the  main  road?" 


THE  SIEGE  207 

"The  shortest  way  to  the  house,"  called  the  girl,  over 
her  shoulder,  "is  the  way  I'm  going  now." 

"But,  Miss  Standish!"  he  protested.     "Please " 

She  did  not  answer.  As  he  had  bent  to  pat  the  col- 
lie, she  had  broken  into  a  run ;  and  now  she  was  half 
way  across  the  lawn,  on  her  way  to  the  lighted  veranda. 
Vexed  at  her  disobedience  is  not  taking  his  advice  and 
absenting  herself  from  impending  trouble,  Gavin  Brice 
followed.  Bobby  Burns  gamboled  along  at  his  side, 
leaping  high  in  the  air  in  an  effort  to  lick  Brice's  face; 
setting  the  night  astir  with  a  fanfare  of  joyous  bark- 
ing; imperiling  Gavin's  every  step  with  his  whisking 
body; — and  in  short  conducting  himself  as  does  the 
average  high-strung  collie  whose  master  breaks  into 
a  run. 

The  noise  brought  a  man  out  of  the  hallway  onto 
the  veranda;  to  see  the  cause  of  the  racket.  He  was 
tall,  massive,  clad  in  snowy  white,  and  with  a  golden 
beard  that  shone  in  the  lamplight.  Milo  Standish,  as 
he  stood  thus,  under  the  glow  of  the  veranda  lights,  was 
splendid  target  for  any  skulking  marksman.  Claire 
seemed  to  divine  this.  For,  before  her  astonished 
brother  could  speak,  she  called  to  him : 

"Go  indoors!    Quickly,  please!" 

Bewildered  at  the  odd  command,  yet  impressed  with 
its  stark  earnestness,  Milo  took  a  wondering  step 
backward,  toward  the  open  doorway.  Then,  at  sight 
of  the  running  man,  just  behind  his  sister,  he  paused. 
Claire's  lips  were  parted,  to  repeat  her  strange  order, 
as  she  came  up  the  porch  steps ;  but  Gavin,  following 
her,  called  reassuringly: 


208         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

"Don't  worry,  Miss  Standish.  They  don't  use  guns. 
They're  knifers.  The  conchs  have  a  holy  horror  of 
firearms.  Besides,  a  shot  might  bring  the  road  patrol. 
He's  perfectly  safe." 

As  Gavin  followed  her  up  the  steps  and  the  full 
light  of  the  lamps  fell  on  his  face,  Milo  Standish  stared 
stupidly  at  him,  in  blank  dismay.  Then,  over  his 
bearded  face,  came  a  look  of  sharp  annoyance. 

"It's  all  right,  Mr.  Standish,"  said  Gavin,  reading 
his  thoughts  as  readily  as  spoken  words.  "Don't  be 
sore  at  Roke.  He  didn't  let  me  get  away.  He  did  his 
best  to  keep  me.  And  my  coming  back  isn't  as  unlucky 
for  you  as  it  seems.  If  the  snakes  had  gotten  me, 
there's  a  Secret  Service  chap  over  there  who  would 
have  had  an  interesting  report  to  make.  And  you'd 
have  joined  Hade  and  Roke  in  a  murder  trial.  So, 
you  see,  things  might  be  worse." 

He  spoke  in  his  wonted  lazily  pleasant  drawl,  and 
with  no  trace  of  excitement.  Yet  he  was  studying 
the  big  man  in  front  of  him,  with  covert  closeness. 
And  the  wholly  uncomprehending  aspect  of  Milo's 
face,  at  mention  of  the  snakes  and  the  possible  murder 
charge,  completed  Brice's  faith  in  Standish's,  inno- 
cence of  the  trick's  worst  features. 

Claire  had  seized  her  brother's  hand  and  was  draw- 
ing the  dumfounded  Milo  after  her  into  the  hallway.. 
And  as  she  went  she  burst  forth  vehemently  into  the 
story  of  Brice's  afternoon  adventures.  Her  words 
fairly  fell  over  one  another,  in  her  indignant  eager- 
ness. Yet  she  spoke  wellnigh  as  concisely  as  had 
Gavin  when  he  had  recounted  the  tale  to  her. 


THE  SIEGE  209 

Standish's  face,  as  she  spoke,  was  foolishly  vacant. 
Then,  a  lurid  blaze  began  to  flicker  behind  his  ice-blue 
eyes ;  and  a  brickish  color  surged  into  his  face.  Wheel- 
ing on  Gavin,  he  cried,  his  voice  choked  and  hoarse: 

"If  this  crazy  yarn  is  true,  Brice,  I  swear  to  God  I 
had  no  knowledge  or  part  in  it !  And  if  it's  true,  the 
man  who  did  it  shall " 

"That  can  wait,"  put  in  Brice,  incisively.  "I  only 
let  her  waste  time  by  telling  it,  to  see  how  it  would  hit 
you  and  if  you  were  the  sort  who  is  worth  saving. 
You  are.  The  Csesar  crowd  has  found  where  the 
tunnel-opening  is, — the  masked  opening,  back  in  the 
path.  And  the  last  of  them  is  on  his  way  here,  under- 
ground. The  tunnel  comes  out,  I  suppose,  in  that  high- 
fenced  enclosure  behind  the  house, — the  enclosure  with 
the  vines  all  over  it  and  the  queer  little  old  coral 
kiosk  in  the  center,  with  the  rusty  iron  door.  The 
kiosk  that  had  three  bulging  canvas  bags  piled  along- 
side its  entrance,  this  morning; — probably  the  night's 
haul  from  the  Caesar's  Estuary  cache,  waiting  for  Hade 
to  get  a  chance  to  run  it  North.  Well,  a  bunch  of  the 
Caesars  are  either  in  that  enclosure  by  now,  or  forcing 
a  way  out  through  the  rusty  old  'rattletrap  door  of  the 
kiosk.  They " 

"The  Caesars?"  babbled  Standish.  "What— what 
'kiosk'  are  you  talking  about? — I —  That's  a  planta- 
tion for " 

"Shut  up!"  interrupted  Brice,  annoyed  by  the  piti- 
ful attempt  to  cling  to  a  revealed  secret.  "The  time 
for  bluffing  is  past,  man!  The  whole  game  is  up. 
You'll  be  lucky  to  escape  a  prison  term;  even  if  you 


210         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

get  out  of  to-night's  mess.  That's  what  I'm  here  for. 
Barricade  the  house,  first  of  all.  I  noticed  you  have 
iron  shutters  on  the  windows;  and  that  they're  new. 
You  must  have  been  looking  for  something  like  this 
to  happen,  some  day." 

As  he  spoke,  Brice  had  been  moving  swiftly  from 
one  window  to  another,  of  the  rooms  opening  out  from 
the  hallway,  shutting  and  barring  the  metal  blinds. 
Claire,  following  his  example,  had  run  from  window 
to  window,  aiding  him  in  his  self-appointed  task  of 
barricading  the  ground  floor.  Milo  alone  stood  inert 
and  dazed ;  gaping  dully  at  the  two  busy  toilers.  Then, 
dazedly,  he  stumbled  to  the  front  door  and  pushed  it 
shut,  fumbling  with  its  bolts.  As  in  a  drunken  dream 
he  mumbled : 

"Three  canvas  bags,  piled ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Brice,  busily,  as  he  clamped  shut  a 
long  French  window  leading  out  onto  the  veranda,  and 
at  the  same  time  tried  to  keep  Bobby  Burns  from  get- 
ting too  much  in  his  way.  "Three  of  them.  I  gather 
that  Hade  had  taken  them  up  to  the  path,  in  his  yacht's 
gaudy  little  motorboat  and  carried  them  to  the  tunnel. 
I  suppose  you  have  some  sort  of  runway  or  hand  car  or 
something  in  the  tunnel  to  make  the  transportation 
easier  than  lugging  the  stuff  along  the  whole  length  of 
stumbly  path;  besides  being  safer  from  view.  I  sup- 
pose, too,  he  had  taken  the  stuff  there  and  then  came 
ahead,  with  his  mocking-bird  signal,  for  you  to  go 
through  the  tunnel  with  him  from  the  kiosk,  and 
bring  them  to  the  enclosure.  Probably  that's  why  I 
was  locked  into  my  room.  So  I  couldn't  spy  on  the 


THE  SIEGE  211 

job.  The  bags  are  still  there,  aren't  they  ?  He  couldn't 
move  them,  except  under  cover  of  darkness.  He'll 
come  for  them  to-night.  .  .  .  He'll  be  too  late." 

Working,  as  he  cast  the  fragmentary  sentences  over 
his  shoulder,  Gavin  nevertheless  glanced  often  enough 
at  Standish's  face  to  make  certain  from  its  foolishly 
dismayed  expression  that  each  of  his  conjectures  was 
correct.  Now,  finishing  his  task,  he  demanded: 

"Your  servants?  Are  they  all  right?  Can  you 
trust  them?  Your  house  servants,  I  mean." 

"Y-yes,"  stammered  Milo,  still  battling  with  the 
idea  of  bluffing  this  calmly  authoritative  man.  "Yes. 
They're  all  right.  But  where  you  got  the  idea " 

"How  many  of  them  are  there?  The  servants,  I 
mean." 

"Four,"  spoke  up  Claire,  returning  from  her  fin- 
ished work,  and  pausing  on  her  way  to  do  like  duty 
for  the  upstairs  windows.  "Two  men  and  two  wo- 
men." 

"Please  go  out  to  the  kitchen  and  see  everything  is 
all  right,  there,"  said  Brice.  "Lock  and  bar  everything. 
Tell  your  two  women  servants  they  can  get  out,  if  they 
want  to.  They'll  be  no  use  here;  and  they  may  get 
hysterical;  as  they  did,  last  night  when  we  had  that 
scrimmage  outside.  The  men-servants  may  be  useful. 
Send  them  here." 

Before  she  could  obey,  the  dining  room  curtains  were 
parted;  and  a  black-clad  little  Jap  butler  sidled  into 
the  hallway,  his  jaw  adroop,  his  beady  eyes  astare  with 
terror;  his  hands  washing  each  other  with  invisible 
soap-and-water. 


212         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

"Sato!"  exclaimed  Claire. 

The  Jap  paid  no  heed. 

"Prease!"  he  chattered  between  Castanet  teeth. 
"Prease,  I  hear.  I  scare.  I  no  fightman.  I  go, 
prease!  I  s-s-s-s,  I " 

Sato's  scant  knowledge  of  English  seemed  to  for- 
sake him,  under  the  stress  of  his  terror.  And  he  broke 
into  a  monkey-like  mouthing,  in  his  native  Japanese. 
Milo  took  a  step  toward  him.  Sato  screeched  like  a 
stuck  pig  and  crouched  to  the  ground. 

"Wait!"  suggested  Brice,  going  toward  the  abject 
creature.  "Let  me  handle  him.  I  know  a  bit  of  his 
language.  Miss  Standish,  please  go  on  with  closing 
the  rest  of  the  house.  Here,  you!"  he  continued, 
addressing  the  Jap.  "Here !" 

Standing  above  the  quivering  Jap,  he  harangued 
him  in  halting  yet  vehement  Japanese;  gesticulating 
and — after  the  manner  of  people  speaking  a  tongue 
unfamiliar  to  them — talking  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
But  his  oration  had  no  stimulating  effect  on  the  poor 
Sato.  Scarce  waiting  for  Brice  to  finish  speaking,  the 
butler  broke  again  into  that  monkey-like  chatter  of 
appeal  and  fright.  Gavin  silenced  him  with  a  threat- 
ening gesture,  and  renewed  his  own  harangue.  But, 
after  perhaps  a  minute  of  it,  he  saw  the  uselessness 
of  trying  to  put  manhood  or  pluck  into  the  groveling 
little  Oriental.  And  he  lost  his  own  temper. 

"Here !"  he  growled,  to  Standish.  "Open  the  front 
door.  Open  it  good  and  wide.  So!" 

Picking  up  the  quaking  and  chattering  Sato  by  the 
collar,  he  half  shoved  and  half  flung  him  across  the 


THE  SIEGE  213 

hallway;  and,  with  a  final  heave,  tossed  him  bodily 
down  the  veranda  steps.  Then,  closing  the  door,  and 
checking  Bobby  Burns's  eager  yearnings  to  charge 
out  after  his  beloved  deity's  victim,  Brice  exclaimed: 

"There !  That's  one  thing  well  done.  We're  better 
off  without  a  coward  like  that.  He'd  be  getting  under 
our  feet  all  the  time ;  or  else  opening  the  doors  to  the 
Caesars,  with  the  idea  of  currying  favor  with  them. 
Where  did  you  ever  pick  up  such  an  arrant  little 
poltroon?  Most  Japs  are  plucky  enough." 

"Hade  lent  him  to  us,"  said  Milo,  evidently  im- 
pressed by  Brice's  athletic  demonstration  against  the 
little  Oriental.  "Sato  worked  for  him,  after  Hade's 
regular  butler  fell  ill.  He " 

"H'm!"  mused  Brice.  "A  hanger-on  of  Hade's, 
eh  ?  That  may  explain  it.  Sato's  cowardice  may  have 
been  a  bit  of  rather  clever  acting.  He  saw  no  use  in 
risking  his  neck  for  you  people  when  his  master  wasn't 
here.  It  was  no  part  of  his  spy  work  to " 

"Spy  work?"  echoed  Standish,  in  real  astonish- 
ment. "What ?" 

"Let  it  go  at  that,"  snapped  Brice,  adding  as  Claire 
reentered  the  room,  followed  by  the  lanky  house-man, 
"All  secure  in  the  kitchen  quarters,  Miss  Standish? 
Good!  Please  send  this  man  to  close  the  upstairs 
shutters,  too.  Not  that  there's  any  danger  that  the 
Caesars  will  try  to  climb,  before  they  find  they  can't  get 
in  on  this  floor.  The  sight  of  the  barred  shutters  will 
probably  scare  them  off,  anyway.  They're  likely  to 
be  more  hungry  for  a  surprise  rush,  than  for  a  siege 
with  resistance  thrown  in.  If " 


214         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

He  ceased  speaking;  his  attention  caught  by  a  sight 
which,  to  the  others,  carried  no  significance,  whatever. 

Simon  Cameron,  the  insolently  lazy  Persian  cat,  had 
been  awakened  from  a  nap  in  a  rosebasket  on  the  top 
of  one  of  the  hall  bookcases.  The  tramping  of  feet, 
the  scrambling  ejection  of  the  Jap  butler,  the  clanging 
shut  of  many  metal  blinds — all  these  had  interfered 
with  the  calm  peacefulness  of  Simon  Cameron's  slum- 
bers. 

Wherefore,  the  cat  had  awakened;  had  stretched 
all  four  shapeless  paws  out  to  their  full  length  in 
luxurious  flexing,  and  had  then  arisen  majestically  to 
his  feet  and  had  stretched  again;  arching  his  fluffy 
back  to  an  incredible  height.  After  which,  the  cat  had 
dropped  lightly  to  the  floor,  five  feet  below  his  resting 
place;  and  had  started  across  the  hall  in  a  mincing 
progress  toward  some  spot  where  his  cherished  nap 
could  be  pursued  without  so  much  disturbance  from 
noisy  humans. 

All  this,  Brice  had  seen  without  taking  any  more 
note  of  it  than  had  the  two  others.  But  now,  his  gaze 
iixed  itself  on  the  animal. 

Simon  Cameron's  flowingly  mincing  progress  had 
brought  him  to  the  dining  room  doorway.  As  he  was 
about  to  pass  through,  under  the  curtains,  he  halted, 
sniffed  the  air  with  muph  daintiness;  then)  turned 
to  the  left  and  halted  again  beside  a  door  which  flanked 
the  diningroom  end  of  the  wide  hall. 

For  an  instant  Simon  Cameron  stood  in  front  of 
this.  Then,  winding  his  plumed  tail  around  his  hips, 
he  sat  down,  directly  in  front  of  the  door ;  and  viewed 


THE  SIEGE  215 

the  portal  interestedly,  as  though  he  expected  a  mouse 
to  emerge  from  it. 

It  was  this  seemingly  simple  action  which  had  so 
suddenly  diverted  Gavin  from  what  he  had  been  say- 
ing. He  knew  the  ways  of  Persian  cats;  even  as  he 
knew  the  ways  of  collies.  And  both  forms  of  knowl- 
edge had  more  than  once  been  of  some  slight  use  to 
him. 

Facing  Milo  and  Claire,  he  signed  to  them  not  to 
speak.  Then,  making  sure  the  house-man  had  gone 
upstairs,  he  walked  up  to  Claire  and  whispered,  point- 
ing over  his  shoulder  at  the  door  which  Simon 
Cameron  was  guarding: 

"Where  does  that  door  lead  to?" 

The  girl  almost  laughed  at  the  earnestness  of  his 
question,  following,  as  it  did,  upon  his  urgent  signal 
for  silence. 

"Why,"  she  answered,  amusedly,  "it  doesn't  lead 
anywhere.  It's  the  door  of  a  clothes  closet.  We  keep 
our  gardening  suits  and  our  raincoats  and  such  things 
in  there.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

By  way  of  reply,  Gavin  crossed  the  hall  in  two 
silent  strides ;  his  muscles  tensed  and  his  head  lowered. 
Seizing  the  knob,  he  flung  the  closet  door  wide  open, 
wellnigh  sweeping  the  indignant  Simon  Cameron  off 
his  furry  feet. 

At  first  glance,  the  closet's  interior  revealed  only 
a  more  or  less  orderly  array  of  hanging  raincoats  and 
aprons  and  overalls.  Then,  all  three  of  the  onlooking 
humans  focused  their  eyes  upon  a  pair  of  splayed  and 


216         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

grimy  bare  feet  which  protruded  beneath  a  somewhat 
bulging  raincoat  of  Milo's. 

Brice  thrust  his  arm  in,  between  this  coat  and  a 
gardening  apron;  and  jerked  forth  a  silently  squirm- 
ing youth,  perhaps  eighteen  years  old;  swarthy  and 
undersized. 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Gavin,  holding  his  writhing 
prize  at  arm's  length,  "Simon  Cameron  must  have  a 
depraved  taste  in  playmates,  if  he  tries  to  choose  this 
one!  A  regular  beach  combing  conch!  Probably  a 
clay-eater,  at  that." 

He  spoke  the  words  with  seeming  carelessness,  but 
really  with  deliberate  intent.  For  the  glum  silence  of 
a  conch  is  a  hard  thing  for  any  outsider  to  break  down. 
He  recalled  what  Claire  had  said  of  the  Caesars'  fierce 
distaste  for  the  word  "conch."  Also,  throughout  the 
South,  "clay-eater,"  has  ever  been  a  fighting  word. 

Brice  had  not  gauged  his  insults  in  vain.  Instantly, 
the  captive's  head  twisted,  like  that  of  a  pinioned  pit- 
terrier,  in  a  frenzied  effort  to  drive  his  teeth  into  the 
hand  or  arm  of  his  captor.  Failing  this,  he  spluttered 
into  rapid-fire  speech. 

"Ah'm  not  a  conch!"  he  rasped,  his  voice  sounding 
as  rusty  as  an  unused  hinge.  "Ah'm  a  Casar,  yo' 
dirty  Yank !  Tuhn  me  loose,  yo' !  Ah  ain't  hurt 
nuthin'." 

"How  did  you  get  in  here?"  bellowed  Milo,  ad- 
vancing threateningly  on  the  youth,  and  swinging  aloft 
one  of  his  hamlike  fists. 

The  intruder  stiffened  into  silence  and  stolid  rigidity. 


THE  SIEGE  217 

Unflinchingly,  he  eyed  the  oncoming  giant.  Brice 
motioned  Standish  back. 

"No  use,"  said  he.  "I  know  the  breed.  They've 
been  kicked  and  beaten  and  hammered  about,  till  a 
licking  has  no  terrors  for  them.  This  sweet  soul  will 
stay  in  the  silences,  till " 

Again,  he  broke  off  speaking.  And  again  on  ac- 
count of  Simon  Cameron.  The  cat,  recovering  from 
the  indignity  of  being  brushed  from  in  front  of  the 
opening  door,  had  returned  to  his  former  post  of 
watching;  and  now  stood,  tail  erect  and  back  arched, 
staring  up  at  the  prisoner  out  of  huge  round  green 
eyes.  The  sight  of  a  stranger  had  its  wonted  lure  for 
the  Persian. 

The  lad's  impotently  roving  glance  fell  upon 
Simon  Cameron.  And  into  his  sullen  face  leaped  stark 
terror.  At  sight  of  it,  Gavin  Brice  hit  on  a  new  idea 
for  wringing  speech  from  the  captive. 

He  knew  that  the  grossly  ignorant  wreckers  and 
fisherfolk  of  the  keys  had  never  set  eyes  on  such  an 
object  as  this;  nor  had  so  much  as  heard  of  Persian 
cats'  existence.  The  few  cats  they  had  seen  were  of 
course  of  the  alley-variety;  lean  and  of  short  and 
mangy  coat.  Simon  Cameron's  halo  of  wide-fluffing 
silver-gray  fur  gave  him  the  appearance  of  being  double 
his  real  size.  His  plumed  cheeks  and  tasseled  ears  and 
dished  profile  and,  above  all,  the  weirdly  staring  green 
eyes — all  combined  to  present  a  truly  frightful  ap- 
pearance to  a  youth  so  unsophisticated  as  this  and  to 
any  one  as  superstitious  and  as  fearful  of  all  unknown 
things  as  were  the  conchs  in  general. 


218         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

"Standish,"  said  Brice,  "just  take  my  place  for  a 
minute  as  holder  of  this  conch's  very  ragged  shirt 
collar.  So!  Now  then: " 

He  stepped  back,  and  picked  up  Simon  Cameron  in 
his  arms.  The  cat  did  not  resent  the  familiarity; 
Gavin  still  being  enough  of  a  stranger  in  the  house  to 
be  of  interest  to  the  Persian.  But  the  round  green  eyes 
still  remained  fixed  with  unwinking  intensity  upon  the 
newer  and  thus  more  interesting  arrival.  Which  is  the 
way  of  a  Persian  cat. 

Brice  held  Simon  Cameron  gingerly,  almost  re- 
spectfully; standing  so  the  huge  eyes  were  able  to 
gaze  unimpeded  at  the  gaping  and  shaking  boy.  Then, 
speaking  very  slowly,  in  a  deep  and  reverent  voice,  he 
intoned : 

"Devil,  look  mighty  close  at  that  conch,  yonder ! 
Watch  him,  so's  you'll  always  remember  him !  Put 
the  voodoo  on  him,  Devil.  Haunt  him  waking,  haunt 
him  sleeping.  Haunt  him  eating,  haunt  him  drinking. 
Haunt  him  standing  and  sitting,  haunt  him  lying  and 
kneeling.  Rot  his  bones  and  his  flesh  and " 

A  howl  of  panic  terror  from  the  youth  interrupted 
the  solemn  incantation.  The  prisoner  slumped  to  his 
knees  in  Standish's  grasp,  weeping  and  jabbering  for 
mercy.  Brice  saw  the  time  was  ripe  for  speech  and 
that  the  captive's  stolid  nerve  was  gone.  Turning  on 
him,  he  said,  sternly: 

"If  you'll  speak  up  and  answer  us,  truthfully,  I'll 
make  this  ha'nt  take  off  the  curse.  But  if  you  lie,  in 
one  word,  he'll  know  it  and  he'll  tell  me,  and — and 


THE  SIEGE  219 

then  I'll  turn  him  loose  on  you.  It's  your  one  chance. 
Want  it?" 

The  youth  fairly  gabbled  his  eagerness  to  assent. 

"Good!"  said  Brice,  still  holding  Simon  Cameron, 
lest  the  supposed  devil  spoil  everything  by  rubbing 
against  the  prisoner's  legs  and  purring.  "First  of 
all: — how  did  you  get  in  here?" 

The  boy  gulped.  Gavin  bent  his  own  head  toward 
the  cat  and  seemed  about  to  resume  his  incantation. 
With  a  galvanic  jump,  the  youth  made  answer 

"Came  by  the  path.  Watched  till  the  dawg  run  out 
in  the  road  to  bark  at  suthin'.  This  man,"  with  a  jerk 
of  his  head  toward  his  captor,  "this  man  went  to  the 
road  after  him.  I  cut  across  the  grass,  yonder,  and 
got  in.  They  come  back.  I  hid  me  in  there." 

"H'm !  Why  didn't  you  come  by  way  of  the  tunnel, 
like  the  other  Caesars?" 

"Pop  tol  me  not  to.  Sent  me  ahead.  Said 
mebbe  they  moughtn't  git  in  here  if  the  doors  was 
locked  early.  Tol'  me  to  hide  me  in  the  house  an'  let 
'em  in,  late,  ef  they-all  couldn't  git  in  no  earlier;  or 
ef  they  couldn't  cotch  one  of  the  two  cusses  outside 
the  house." 

"Good  strategy!"  approved  Brice.  "That  explains 
why  they  haven't  rushed  us,  Standish.  They  came 
here  in  force,  and  most  likely  (if  they've  gotten  out 
of  the  enclosure,  yet)  they've  surrounded  the  house; 
waiting  for  you  or  Hade  to  come  in  or  go  out.  If 
that  doesn't  work,  they  plan  to  wait  till  you're  asleep; 
and  then  get  in,  by  this  gallant  youngster's  help,  and 
cut  your  throat  at  their  leisure  and  loot  the  house  and 


220         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

take  a  good  leisurely  hunt  for  the  treasure.  It  calls 
for  more  sense  than  I  thought  they  had.  .  .  .  How 
did  they  find  the  tunnel  ?"  he  continued,  to  the  prisoner. 

"They  been  a-huntin'  fer  it,  nigh  onto  one-half  of 
a  year,"  sulkily  returned  the  boy.  "Pop  done  found 
it,  yest'dy.  Stepped  into  it,  he  did,  a  walkin'  past." 

"The  rumor  of  that  tunnel  has  been  hereabout  for 
over  a  century,"  explained  Brice,  to  the  Standishes. 
"Just  as  the  treasure-rumors  have.  I  heard  of  it  when 
I  was  a  kid.  The  Caesars  must  have  heard  it,  a  thou- 
sand times.  But,  till  this  game  started,  there  was  no 
impetus  to  look  for  it,  of  course.  The  tunnel  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  dug,  just  after  that  Seminole  war- 
party  cut  off  the  refugees  in  the  path.  By  the  way, 
Miss  Standish,  I  didn't  mention  it  while  we  were  still 
there;  but  the  mangrove-swamp  is  supposed  to  be 
haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  those  killed  settlers." 

Brother  and  sister  glanced  at  each  other;  almost  in 
guilt,  as  it  seemed  to  the  observing  Brice.  And  Claire 
said,  shortly: 

"I  know.  Every  one  around  here  has  heard  it. 
Some  of  the  negroes  and  even  some  of  the  more 
ignorant  crackers  declare  they  have  heard  screams 
from  the  swamp  on  dark  nights  and  that  white  figures 
have  been  seen  flitting " 

"So?"  queried  Brice.  "Back  in  the  boat,  you  were 
starting  to  tell  me  how  you  sat  on  the  veranda,  one 
night,  and  heard  a  cry  in  the  swamp  and  then  saw  a 
white  figure  emerge  from  the  path.  Yes?  I  have  a 
notion  that  that  white  figure  was  responsible  for  the 
cry;  and  that  your  brother  and  Rodney  Hade  were  re- 


THE  SIEGE  221 

sponsible  for  both.  Wasn't  that  a  trick  to  scare  off 
any  chance  onlookers,  when  some  of  the  treasure  was 
to  be  brought  here?" 

"Yes,"  admitted  Claire,  shamefacedly;  and  she 
added :  "Milo  hadn't  told  me  anything  about  it.  And 
Rodney  thought  I  was  at  a  dance  at  the  Royal  Palm 
Hotel,  that  evening.  I  had  expected  to  go,  but  I  had 
a  headache.  When  the  cry  and  the  white  form 
frightened  me  so,  Milo  had  to  tell  me  what  they 
both  meant.  That  was  how  I  found  out,  first,  that 
they " 

"Claire!"  cried  Standish  in  alarmed  rebuke. 

"It's  all  right,  Standish,"  said  Gavin.  "I  know  all 
about  it.  A  good  deal  more  than  she  does.  And  none 
of  it  from  her,  either.  We'll  come  to  that,  later.  Now 
for  the  prisoner." 

Turning  to  the  glumly  scowling  youth,  he  resumed : 

"How  many  of  them  are  there  in  this  merry  little 
midnight  murder  party?" 

"I  dunno,"  grunted  the  boy. 

"Devil,  is  that  true?"  gravely  asked  Gavin,  bending 
again  toward  Simon  Cameron. 

"Six!"  babbled  the  lad,  eagerly.     "Pop  and " 

"Never  mind  giving  me  a  census  of  them,"  said 
Brice.  "It  wouldn't  do  me  any  good.  I've  left  my 
copies  of  'Who's  Who'  and  Burke's  Peerage  at  home. 
And  they  figured  Mr.  Standish  and  Mr.  Hade  would 
both  be  here,  to-night?" 

"Most  nights  t'other  one  comes,"  said  the  boy. 
"I  laid  out  yonder  and  heern  him,  one  night.  Whistles 


222          BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

like  he's  a  mocking-bird,  when  he  gits  nigh  here.  I 
told  Pop  an'  them  about  that.  They " 

"By  the  way,"  asked  Gavin,  "when  your  Pop  came 
back  from  finding  the  tunnel,  last  night,  was  he  in 
pretty  bad  shape?  Hey?  Was  he?" 

"He  were,"  responded  the  captive,  after  another 
scared  look  at  Simon  Cameron.  "He  done  fell  into 
the  tunnel,  arter  he  step  down  it.  An'  he  bust  hisself 
up,  suthin'  fierce,  round  the  haid  an'  the  th'oat. 

TT J> 

"I  see,"  agreed  Brice. 

Then,  to  Standish: 

"I  think  we've  got  about  all  out  of  the  charming 
child  that  we  can  expect  to.  Suppose  we  throw  him 
out?" 

"Throw  him  out?"  echoed  Milo,  incredulously. 
"Do  you  mean,  set  him  free?  Why,  man  he'd " 

"That's  exactly  what  I  mean,"  said  Gavin.  "I  agree 
with  Caesar — Julius  Caesar,  not  the  pirate.  Caesar 
used  to  say  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  hold  prisoners. 
They  must  be  fed  and  guarded  and  they  can  do  in- 
calculable mischief.  We've  turned  this  prisoner  inside 
out.  We've  learned  from  him  that  six  men  are  lurk- 
ing somewhere  outside,  on  the  chance  that  you  or 
Rodney  Hade  may  come  out  or  come  in;  so  that  they 
can  cut  you  both  off,  comfortably,  out  there  in  the 
dark,  and  carry  on  their  treasure-hunt  here.  Failing 
that,  they  plan  to  get  in  here,  when  you're  asleep.  All 
this  lad  can  tell  them  is  that  you  are  on  your  guard; 
and  that  there  are  enough  of  us  to  hold  the  house 
against  any  possible  rush.  He  can  also  tell  them," 


THE  SIEGE  223 

pursued  Gavin,  dropping  back  into  his  slowly  solemn 
diction,  "about  this  devil — this  ha'nt — that  serves  us; 
and  of  the  curse — the  voodoo — he  can  put  on  them  all 
if  they  try  to  harm  us.  We'll  let  him  go.  He  was 
sent  on,  by  the  path ;  because  he  went  some  time  ahead 
of  the  rest ;  and  he  didn't  know  the  secret  of  the  tunnel. 
In  fact,  none  of  them  could  have  known  just  where  it 
ended  here.  But  they'll  know  by  now.  He  can  join 
them,  if  they're  picketing  the  house.  And  he  can  tell 
them  what  he  knows." 

Strolling  over  to  the  front  door,  he  unbarred  it  and 
opened  it  wide,  standing  fearlessly  in  its  lighted 
threshold. 

"Pass  him  along  to  me,"  he  bade  Standish.  "Or, 
you  can  let  him  go.  He  won't  miss  the  way  out." 

"But,"  argued  Milo,  stubbornly  retaining  his  grip 
on  the  ragged  shirt  collar,  "I  don't  agree  with  you. 
I'm  going  to  keep  him  here  and  lock  him  up,  till " 

He  got  no  further.  The  sight  of  the  open  door 
leading  to  freedom  was  too  much  for  the  youth's 
stolidity.  Twisting  suddenly,  he  drove  his  yellow 
teeth  deep  into  the  fleshy  part  of  Standish's  hand. 
And,  profiting  by  the  momentary  slackening  of  Milo's 
grasp,  he  made  one  wildly  scrambling  dive  across  the 
hall;  vaulting  over  the  excited  Bobby  Burns  (and 
losing  a  handful  of  his  disreputable  trousers  to  the 
dog's  jaws,  in  the  process)  and  volleying  over  the 
threshold  with  the  speed  of  an  express  train. 

While  Standish  nursed  his  sorely-bitten  hand,  Brice 
watched  the  lad's  lightning  progress  across  the  lawn. 


224         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

Then,  still  standing  in  the  open  doorway,  he  called 
back,  laughingly  to  the  two  others : 

"Part  of  my  well-built  scheme  has  gone  to  smash. 
He  didn't  stop  to  look  for  any  of  his  clansmen.  Not 
even  the  redoubtable  Pop.  He  just  beat  it  for  the 
hidden  path;  without  hitting  the  ground  more  than 
about  once,  on  the  way.  And  he  dived  into  the  path 
like  a  rabbit  He'll  never  stop  till  he  reaches  the 
beach.  And  then  the  chances  are  he'll  swim  straight  out 
to  sea  without  even  waiting  to  find  where  the  Caesars' 
boats  are  cached.  .  .  .  Best  get  some  hot  water  and 
iodine  and  wash  out  that  bite,  Standish.  Don't  look 
so  worried,  Miss  Standish !  I'm  in  no  danger,  stand- 
ing here.  In  the  first  place,  I  doubt  if  they'll  have  the 
nerve  to  rush  the  house  at  all; — certainly  not  yet,  if 
they  didn't  recognize  our  fast-running  friend.  In  the 
second,  they're  after  Hade  and  your  brother.  And  in 
this  bright  light  they  can't  possibly  mistake  me  for 
either  of  them.  Hello!"  he  broke  off.  "There  went 
one  of  them,  just  then,  across  that  patch  of  light,  down 
yonder.  And,  unless  my  eyes  are  going  back  on  me, 
there's  another  of  them  creeping  along  toward  the 
head  of  the  path.  They  must  have  seen— or  thought 
they  saw — some  one  dash  down  there;  even  if  it  was 
too  dark  for  them  to  recognize  him.  And  they  are 
trying  to  get  some  line  on  who  he  is.  ...  The  moon 
is  coming  up.  That  won't  help  them,  to  any  great 
extent." 

He  turned  back  into  the  room;  partly  shutting  the 
door  behind  him.  But  he  did  not  finish  the  process  of 
closing  it. 


THE  SIEGE  225 

For — sweet,  faint,  yet  distinct  to  them  all — the 
soaring  notes  of  a  mocking-bird's  song  swelled  out  on 
the  quiet  of  the  night. 

"Rodney  Hade!"  gasped  Standish.  "It's  his  first 
signal.  He  gives  it  when  he's  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  end.  Good  Lord !  And  he's  going  to  walk  straight 
into  that  ambush !  It's — it's  sure  death  for  him !" 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE 

FOR  a  moment  none  of  the  three  spoke.  Standish 
and  his  sister  stared  at  each  other  in  dumb  horror. 
Then  Milo  took  an  uncertain  step  toward  the  door. 
Brice  made  no  move  to  check  him;  but  stood  looking 
quietly  on,  with  the  detached  expression  of  a  man  who 
watches  an  interesting  stage  drama. 

Just  within  the  threshold,  Standish  paused,  irreso- 
lute, his  features  working.  And  Gavin  Brice,  as  be- 
fore, read  his  emotions  as  though  they  were  writ  in 
large  letters.  He  knew  Milo  was  not  only  a  giant  in 
size  and  in  strength,  but  that  in  ordinary  circumstances 
or  at  bay  he  was  valiant  enough.  But  it  is  one  thing 
to  meet  casual  peril;  and  quite  another  to  fare  forth 
in  the  dark  among  six  savage  men,  all  of  whom  are 
waiting  avidly  for  the  chance  to  murder. 

A  braver  warrior  than  Milo  Standish  might  well 
have  hesitated  to  face  sure  death  in  such  a  form;  for 
the  mere  sake  of  saving  a  man  whom  he  feared  and 
hated,  and  whose  existence  threatened  his  own  good 
name  and  liberty. 

Wherefore,  just  within  the  shelter  of  the  open  door, 
the  giant  paused  and  hung  back ;  fighting  for  the  nerve 
to  go  forth  on  his  fatal  errand  of  heroism.  Gavin, 

229 


230         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

studying  him,  saw  with  vivid  clearness  the  weakness 
of  character  which  had  made  this  man  the  dupe  and 
victim  of  Hade,  and  which  had  rendered  him  helpless 
against  the  wiles  of  a  master-mind. 

But  if  Standish  hesitated,  Claire  did  not.  After 
one  look  of  scornful  pity  at  her  wavering  half-brother, 
she  moved  swiftly  past  him  to  the  threshold.  There 
was  no  hint  of  hesitation  in  her  free  step  as  she  ran 
to  the  rescue  of  the  man  who  had  ruined  Milo's  career. 
And  both  onlookers  knew  she  would  brave  any  and 
all  the  dire  perils  of  the  lurking  marauders,  in  order 
to  warn  back  the  unconsciously  oncoming  Hade. 

As  she  sped  through  the  doorway,  Brice  came  to 
himself,  with  a  start.  Springing  forward,  he  caught 
the  flying  little  figure  and  swung  it  from  the  ground. 
Disregarding  Claire's  violent  struggles,  he  bore  her 
back  into  the  house;  shutting  and  locking  the  door 
behind  her  and  standing  with  his  back  to  it. 

"You  can't  go,  Miss  Standish!"  he  said,  in  stern 
command,  as  if  rebuking  some  fractious  child.  "Your 
little  finger  is  worth  more  than  that  blackguard's  whole 
body.  Besides,"  he  added,  grimly,  "mocking  birds, 
that  sing  nearly  three  weeks  ahead  of  schedule,  must 
be  prepared  to  pay  the  bill." 

She  was  struggling  with  the  door.  Then,  realizing 
that  she  could  not  open  it,  she  ran  to  the  nearest  win- 
dow which  looked  out  on  the  lawn  and  the  path-head 
Tugging  at  the  sash  she  flung  it  open;  and  next  fell 
to  work  at  the  shutter-bars.  As  she  threw  wide  the 
shutters,  and  put  one  knee  on  the  sill,  Milo  Standish 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE        231 

caught  her  by  the  shoulder.  Roughly  drawing  her 
back  into  the  room,  he  said : 

"Brice  is  right.  It's  not  your  place  to  go.  It  would 
be  suicide.  Useless  suicide,  at  that.  I'd  go,  myself. 
But— but " 

1  They  that  take  up  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the 
sword,'  "  quoted  Gavin,  tersely.  "The  man  who  sets 
traps  must  expect  to  step  into  a  trap  some  day.  And 
those  Csesars  will  be  more  merciful  assassins  than  the 
moccasin  snakes  would  have  been.  .  .  .  He's  taking 
plenty  of  time,  to  cover  that  last  hundred  yards.  Per- 
haps he  met  the  conch  boy,  running  back;  and  had 
sense  enough  to  take  alarm." 

"Not  he,"  denied  Standish.  "That  fool  boy  was  so 
scared,  he'd  plunge  into  the  brush  or  the  water,  the 
second  he  heard  Rodney's  step.  Those  conchs  can 
keep  as  mum  as  Seminoles.  He'd  never  let  Rodney 
see  him  or  hear  him.  He " 

Standish  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  Into  his  slow- 
moving  brain,  an  idea  dawned.  Leaning  far  out  of  the 
window  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  enormous  lungs, 
he  bawled  through  the  night: 

"Hade!    Back,  man!    Go  back!    They'll  kill  you !" 

The  bull-like  bellow  might  have  been  heard  for  half 
a  mile.  And,  as  it  ceased,  a  muffled  snarling,  like  a 
dog's,  came  from  the  edge  of  the  forest ;  where  waited 
the  silent  men  whose  knives  were  drawn  for  the  killing. 

And,  in  the  same  instant,  from  the  head  of  the  path, 
drifted  the  fluting  notes  of  a  mocking  bird. 

Disregarding  or  failing  to  catch  the  meaning  of  the 
thickly-bellowed  warning,  Rodney  Hade  was  advanc- 


232         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

ing  nonchalantly  upon  his  fate.  The  three  in  the  hall- 
way crowded  into  the  window-opening,  tense,  word- 
less, mesmerized;  peering  aghast  toward  the  screen  of 
vines  which  veiled  the  end  of  the  path. 

The  full  moon,  which  Brice  had  glimpsed  as  it  was 
rising,  a  minute  or  so  before,  now  breasted  the  low 
tops  of  the  orange  trees  across  the  highroad  and  sent 
a  level  shaft  of  light  athwart  the  lawn.  Its  clear  beams 
played  vividly  on  the  dark  forest,  revealing  the  screen 
of  vines  at  the  head  of  the  path;  and  revealing  also 
three  crouching  dark  figures,  close  to  the  ground,  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  lawn,  not  six  feet  from  the  path 
head. 

And,  almost  instantly,  with  a  third  repetition  of  the 
mocking  bird  call,  the  vine  screen  was  swept  aside. 
Out  into  the  moonshine  sauntered  a  slight  figure,  all 
in  white,  yachting  cap  on  head;  lighted  cigarette  in 
hand. 

The  man  came  out  from  the  black  vine-screen,  and, 
for  a  second,  stood  there;  as  if  glancing  carelessly 
about  him.  Milo  Standish  shouted  again,  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs.  And  this  time,  Claire's  voice,  like  a 
silver  bugle,  rang  out  with  his  in  that  cry  of  warning. 

But,  before  the  dual  shout  was  fairly  launched,  three 
dark  bodies  had  sprung  forward  and  hurled  themselves 
on  the  unsuspecting  victim.  There  was  a  tragically 
brief  struggle.  Then,  all  four  were  on  the  ground, 
the  vainly-battling  white  body  underneath.  And  there 
was  a  gruesome  sound  as  of  angry  beasts  worrying 
their  meat. 

Carried  out  of  his  own  dread,  by  the  spectacle,  Milo 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       233 

Standish  vaulted  over  the  sill  and  out  onto  the 
veranda.  But  there  he  came  to  a  halt.  For  there  was 
no  further  need  for  him  to  throw  away  his  own  life 
in  the  belated  effort  at  rescue. 

The  three  black  figures  had  regained  their  feet. 
And,  on  the  trampled  lawn-edge  in  front  of  them  lay 
a  huddle  of  white;  with  darker  stains  splashed  here 
and  there  on  it.  The  body  lay  in  an  impossible  posture 
— a  posture  which  Nature  neither  intends  nor  permits. 
It  told  its  own  dreadful  story,  to  the  most  uninitiated 
of  the  three  onlookers  at  the  window. 

With  dragging  feet,  Milo  Standish  turned  back,  and 
reentered  the  house,  as  he  had  gone  out  of  it. 

"I  am  a  coward!"  he  said,  heavily.  "I  could  have 
saved  him.  Or  we  could  have  fought,  back  to  back, 
till  we  were  killed.  It  would  have  been  a  white  man's 
way  of  dying.  I  am  a  coward !" 

He  sank  down  in  a  chair  and  buried  his  bearded  face 
in  his  hands.  No  one  contradicted  him  or  made  any 
effort  at  comfort.  Claire,  deathly  pale,  still  crouched 
forward,  staring  blindly  at  the  moveless  white  figure 
at  the  head  of  the  path. 

"Peace  to  his  soul!"  said  Brice,  in  a  hushed  voice; 
adding  under  his  breath:  "If  he  had  one!" 

Then,  laying  his  hand  gently  on  Claire's  arm,  he 
drew  her  away  from  the  window  and  shut  the  blinds 
on  the  sight  which  had  so  horrified  them. 

"Go  and  lie  down,  Miss  Standish,"  he  bade  her. 
"This  has  been  an  awful  thing  for  you  or  any  other 
woman  to  look  on.  Take  a  double  dose  of  aromatic 
spirits  of  ammonia;  and  tell  one  of  the  maids  to  bring 


234         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

you  some  black  coffee.  .  .  .  Do  as  I  say,  please!"  he 
urged,  as  she  looked  mutely  at  him  and  made  no  move 
to  obey.  "You  may  need  your  strength  and  your 
nerve.  And — try  to  think  of  anything  but  what  you've 
just  seen.  Remember,  he  was  an  outlaw;  a  murderer; 
the  man  who  wrecked  your  brother's  honorable  life; 
a  thoroughpaced  blackguard;  a  man  who  merits  no 
one's  pity.  More  than  that,  he  was  one  of  Germany's 
cleverest  spies,  during  the  war.  His  life  was  forfeit, 
then,  for  the  injury  he  did  his  country.  I  am  not 
heartless  in  speaking  this  way  of  a  man  who  is  dead. 
I  do  it,  so  that  you  may  not  feel  the  horror  of  his 
killing  as  you  would  if  a  decent  man  had  died,  like  that 
Now  go,  please." 

Tenderly,  he  led  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  The 
house  man  was  just  returning  from  the  locking  of  the 
upstairs  shutters.  To  him  Brice  gave  the  order  for 
coffee  to  be  taken  to  her  room  and  for  one  of  the  maids 
to  attend  her  there. 

As  she  passed  dazedly  up  the  stairs,  Gavin  stood 
over  the  broken  giant  who  still  sat  inert  and  huddled 
in  his  chair,  face  in  hands. 

"Buck  up!"  said  Brice,  impatiently.  "If  you  can 
grieve  for  a  man  who  made  you  his  slave  and " 

"Grieve  for  him?"  repeated  Standish,  raising  his 
haggard  face.  "Grieve  for  him?  I  thank  God  he's 
dead.  I  hated  him  'as  I  never  hated  any  one  else  or 
thought  I  could  hate  any  one !  I  hated  him  as  we  hate 
the  man  in  whose  power  we  are  and  who  uses  us  as 
helpless  pawns  in  his  dirty  game.  I'd  have  killed  him, 
long  ago;  if  I  had  had  the  nerve; — and  if  he  hadn't 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE        235 

made  me  believe  he  had  a  charmed  life.  His  death 
means  freedom  to  me; — glorious  freedom!  It's  for 
my  own  foul  cowardice  that  I'm  grieving.  The 
cowardice  that  held  me  here  while  a  man's  life  might 
have  been  saved  by  me.  That's  going  to  haunt  me  as 
long  as  I  live." 

"Bosh!"  scoffed  Gavin.  "You'll  get  over  it.  Self- 
forgiveness  is  the  easiest  blessing  to  acquire.  You're 
better  of  it,  already;  or  you  couldn't  talk  so  glibly 
about  it.  Now,  about  this  treasure-business:  You 
know,  of  course,  that  you'll  have  to  drop  it; — that 
you'll  have  to  give  up  every  cent  of  it  to  the  Govern- 
ment? If  you  can't  find  the  cache,  up  North,  where 
Hade  used  to  send  it  when  he  lugged  it  away  from 
here,  it  is  likely  to  go  a  bit  hard  with  you.  I'm  going 
to  do  all  I  can  to  get  you  clear.  Not  for  your  own 
sake,  but  for  your  sister's.  But  you'll  have  to  'come 
through,  clean,'  if  I'm  to  help  you.  Now,  if  you've  got 
anything  to  say " 

He  paused,  invitingly.  Milo  gaped  at  him,  the  big 
bearded  face  working  convulsively.  Nerves  wrenched, 
easily  dominated  by  a  stronger  nature,  the  giant  was 
struggling  in  vain  to  resume  his  pose  of  not  under- 
standing Brice's  allusions.  Presently,  with  a  sigh,  that 
was  more  like  a  grunt  of  hopelessness,  he  thrust  his 
fingers  into  an  inner  pocket  of  his  waistcoat ;  and  drew 
forth  a  somewhat  tarnished  silver  dollar.  This  he 
held  toward  Gavin,  in  his  wide  palm. 

Brice  took  the  coin  from  him  and  inspected  it  with 
considerable  interest.  In  spite  of  the  tarnish  and 
the  ancient  die  and  date,  its  edges  were  as  sharp  and 


236          BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

its  surface  as  unworn  as  though  it  had  been  minted 
that  very  year.  Clearly,  this  dollar  had  jingled  in  no 
casual  pockets,  along  with  other  coins ;  nor  had  it  been 
sweated  or  marred  by  any  sort  of  use. 

"Do  you  know  what  that  is?"  asked  Milo. 

"Yes,"  said  Brice.  "It  is  a  United  States  silver 
dollar,  dated  '1804.'  " 

"Do  you  know  its  value?"  pursued  Milo.  "But  of 
course  you  don't.  You  probably  think  it  is  worth  its 
weight  in  silver  and  nothing  more." 

"It  is,  and  it  isn't,"  returned  Gavin.  "If  I  were 
to  take  this  dollar,  to-night,  to  the  right  groups  of 
numismatists,  they  would  pay  me  anywhere  from 
$3,000  to  $7,000  for  it." 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Standish,  in  visible  surprise.  "You 
know  something  about  numismatics,  then?" 

"Just  a  little,"  modestly  admitted  Brice.  "In  my 
work,  one  has  to  have  a  smattering  of  it.  For  instance 
— if  I  remember  rightly — there  are  only  three  of  these 
1804  silver  dollars  generally  known  to  be  in  existence. 
That  is  why  collectors  are  ready  to  pay  a  fortune  for 
authentic  specimens  of  them,  in  good  condition.  Yes, 
a  smattering  of  numismatics  may  come  in  handy,  at 
times.  So  does  sailor  lore.  It  did,  for  instance,  with 
a  chap  I  used  to  know.  He  had  read  up,  on  this  special 
dollar.  He  was  dead-broke.  He  was  passing  the 
Gloucester  waterfront,  one  day;  and  saw  a  dockful  of 
rotting  old  schooners  that  were  being  sold  at  auction 
for  firewood  and  for  such  bits  of  their  metal  as  weren't 
rusted  to  pieces.  He  read  the  catalog.  Then  he 
telegraphed  to  me  to  wire  him  a  loan  of  one  hundred 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       237 

dollars.  For  the  catalog  gave  the  date  of  one  schoon- 
er's building  as  1804.  He  knew  it  used  to  be  a  hard- 
and-fast  custom  of  ship-builders  to  put  a  silver  dollar 
under  the  mainmast  of  every  vessel  they  built; — a  dol- 
lar of  that  particular  year.  He  bought  the  schooner 
for  $70.  He  spent  ten  dollars  in  hiring  men  to  rip 
out  her  mast.  Under  it  was  an  1804  dollar.  He  sold 
it  for  $3,600." 

"Since  you  know  so  much  about  the  1804  dollar," 
went  on  Milo,  catechizingly,  "perhaps  you  know  why 
it  is  so  rare?  Or  perhaps  you  didn't  add  a  study  of 
American  history  to  your  numismatics  ?" 

"The  commonly  accepted  story  goes,"  said  Brice, 
taking  no  heed  of  the  sneer,  "that  practically  the  whole 
issue  of  1804  dollars  went  toward  the  payment  of  the 
Louisiana  Purchase  money;  when  Uncle  Sam  paid 
Napoleon  Bonaparte's  government  a  trifle  less  than 
$15,000,000  (or  under  four  cents  an  acre)  for  the 
richest  part  of  the  whole  United  States.  Payment  was 
made  in  half  a  dozen  different  forms, — in  settlement 
of  anti-French  claims  and  in  installment  notes ;  and  so 
forth.  But  something  between  a  million  and  two 
million  dollars  of  it  is  said  to  have  been  paid  in  silver." 

"Are  you  a  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Brice?"  queried  Milo, 
who  seemed  unable  to  avoid  sneering  in  futile  fashion 
at  the  man  who  was  dominating  his  wavering  will- 
power. 

"No,  Mr.  Standish,"  coolly  replied  the  other.  "I  am 
Gavin  Brice,  of  the  United  States  Secret  Service." 

Standish's  bearded  jaw  dropped.     He  glanced  fur- 


238         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

tively  about  him,  like  a  trapped  rat.  Gavin  continued, 
authoritatively : 

"You've  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  as  long  as  you 
play  straight.  And  I'm  here  to  see  that  you  shall. 
Two  hours  ago,  I  was  for  renouncing  my  life-work 
and  throwing  over  my  job.  Never  mind  why.  I've 
changed  my  mind,  now.  I'm  in  this  thing  to  the  finish. 
With  Hade  out  of  the  game,  I  can  see  my  way 
through." 

"But " 

"Now  I'll  finish  the  yarn  you  were  so  gradually 
leading  up  to  with  those  schoolboy  questions  of  yours. 
French  statesmen  claimed,  last  year,  that  something 
over  a  million  dollars  of  the  Louisiana  purchase  money 
was  never  paid  to  France.  That  was  money,  in  the 
form  of  silver  dollars,  which  went  by  sea.  In  skirting 
the  Florida  coast — probably  on  the  way  from  some 
mint  or  treasury  in  the  South — one  or  more  of  the 
treasure  ships  parted  from  their  man-o'-war  escorts 
in  a  hurricane;  and  went  aground  on  the  southeastern 
Florida  reefs.  The  black  pirate,  Caesar,  and  his  cut- 
throats did  the  rest. 

"This  was  no  petty  haul,  such  as  Caesar  was  ac- 
customed to;  and  it  seems  to  have  taken  his  breath 
away.  He  and  his  crew  carried  it  into  Caesar's 
Estuary — not  Caesar's  Creek — an  inlet,  among  the 
mangrove  swamps.  They  took  it  there  by  night;  and 
sank  it  in  shallow  water,  under  the  bank.  There  they 
planned  to  have  it  until  it  might  be  safe  to  divide  it  and 
to  scatter  to  Europe  or  to  some  place  where  they  could 
live  in  safety  and  in  splendor.  Only  a  small  picked 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       239 

crew  of  Caesar's  knew  the  hiding  place.  And,  by  some 
odd  coincidence,  every  man  of  them  died  of  prussic 
acid  poisoning,  at  a  booze-feast  that  Caesar  invited 
them  to,  at  his  shack  down  on  Caesar's  creek,  a  month 
later.  Then,  almost  at  once  afterward,  as  you've  prob- 
ably heard,  Caesar  himself  had  the  bad  luck  to  die  with 
extreme  suddenness. 

"The  secret  was  lost.  Dozens  of  pirates  and  of 
wreckers — ancestors  of  the  conchs — knew  about  the 
treasure.  But  none  of  them  could  find  it. 

"There  was  a  rumor  that  Caesar  had  written  instruc- 
tions about  it,  on  the  flyleaf  of  a  jeweled  prayerbook 
that  was  part  of  some  ship's  loot.  But  his  heirs  sold 
or  hocked  the  prayer-book,  at  St.  Augustine  or  Kings- 
ton or  Havana,  before  this  story  reached  them.  None 
of  them  could  have  read  it,  anyhow.  Then,  last  year, 
Rodney  Hade  happened  upon  that  book,  (with  the 
jewels  all  pried  out  of  the  cover,  long  ago),  in  a  negro 
cabin  on  Shirley  Street,  at  Nassau ;  after  hunting  for  it, 
off  and  on,  for  years.  The  Government  had  been 
hunting  for  it,  too;  but  he  got  to  it  a  week  ahead 
of  us.  That  was  how  we  found  who  had  it.  And 
that  is  why  we  decided  to  watch  him.  ...  Do  you 
want  me  to  keep  on  prattling  about  these  things,  to 
convince  you  I'm  what  I  say  I  am  ?  Or  have  you  had 
enough  ? 

"For  instance,  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  how  Hade 
wound  his  web  around  a  blundering  fool  whose  help 
and  whose  hidden  path  and  tunnel  and  caches  he  needed, 
in  order  to  make  sure  of  the  treasure?  Or  is  it  enough 
for  me  to  say  the  dollars  belong  to  the  United  States 


240         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

•  Government,  and  that  Uncle  Sam  means  to  have  them 
back?" 

Standish  still  gaped  at  him,  with  fallen  jaw  and 
bulging  eyes.  Gavin  went  on  : 

"Knowing  Hade's  record  and  his  cleverness  as  I  do, 
I  can  guess  how  he  was  going  to  swing  the  hoard  when 
he  finished  transporting  all  of  it  to  safety.  Prob- 
ably, he'd  clear  up  a  good  many  thousand  dollars  by 
selling  the  coins,  one  at  a  time,  secretly,  to  collectors 
who  would  think  he  was  selling  them  the  only  1804 
dollar  outside  the  three  already  known  to  be  in  exist- 
ence. When  that  market  was  glutted,  he  was  due  to 
melt  down  the  rest  of  the  dollars  into  bar  silver. 
Silver  is  high  just  now,  you  know.  Worth  almost 
double  what  once  it  was.  The  loot  ought  to  have  been 
much  the  biggest  thing  in  his  speckled  career.  How 
much  of  it  he  was  intending  to  pass  along  to  you,  is 
another  question.  By  the  way — the  three  canvas  bags 
he  left  out  by  the  kiosk  ought  to  do  much  toward 
whetting  the  Caesars'  appetite  for  the  rest.  It  may 
«ven  key  them  up  to  rushing  the  house  before  morn- 
ing." 

"We'll  be  ready  for  them!"  spoke  up  Standish, 
harshly ;  as  though  glad  to  have  a  prospect  of  restoring 
his  broken  self-respect  by  such  a  clash. 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  Gavin,  smiling  at  the  man's  new 
ardor  for  battle.  "It  would  be  a  pleasant  little  brush — 
if  it  weren't  for  your  sister.  Miss  Standish  has  seen 
about  enough  of  that  sort  of  thing  for  one  night.  If 
she  weren't  a  thoroughbred,  with  the  nerves  of  a  thor- 
oughbred and  the  pluck  as  well,  she'd  be  a  wreck ;  from 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       241 

what  has  happened  already.  More  of  it  might  be  seri- 
ously bad  for  her." 

Standish  glowered.  Then  he  lifted  his  bulky  body 
from  the  low  chair  and  crossed  the  hall  to  the  telephone. 
Taking  the  receiver  from  the  hook,  he  said  sulkily  to 
Brice : 

"Maybe  you're  right.  I  have  a  couple  of  night- 
watchmen  patrolling  the  road,  above  and  below.  I'll 
phone  to  the  agency  to  send  me  half  a  dozen  more,  to 
clear  the  grounds.  I'd  phone  the  police  about  it,  but 
I  don't  like " 

"Don't  like  to  lock  the  stable  door  after  the  horse 
is  stolen?"  suggested  Brice.  "Man,  get  it  into  that 
thick  skull  of  yours  that  the  time  for  secrecy  is  past ! 
Your  game  is  up.  Hade  is  dead.  Your  one  chance 
is  to  play  out  the  rest  of  this  hand  with  your  cards  on 
the  table.  The  Government  knows  you  are  only  the 
dupe.  It  will  let  you  off,  if  the  money  is " 

"What  in  blue  blazes  is  the  matter  with  Central?" 
growled  Milo,  whanging  the  receiver-hook  up  and 
down  in  vexation.  "Is  she  dead  ?" 

Gavin  went  over  to  him  and  took  the  receiver  out  of 
his  hand.  Listening  for  a  moment,  he  made  answer : 

"I  don't  believe  Central  is  dead.  But  I  know  this 
phone  is.  Our  Caesar  friends  seem  to  be  more  so- 
phisticated than  I  thought.  They've  cut  the  wires, 
from  outside." 

"H'm!"  grunted  Milo.  "That  means  we've  got  to 
play  a  lone  hand.  Well,  I'm  not  sorry.  I 

"Not  necessarily,"  contradicted  Gavin.    "I'd  rather 


242         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

have  relied  on  the  local  watchmen,  of  course.  But  their 
absence  needn't  bother  us,  overmuch." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Before  Gavin  could  answer,  a  stifled  cry  from  the 
hallway  above  brought  both  men  to  attention.  It  was 
followed  by  a  sound  of  lightly  running  feet.  And 
Claire  Standish  appeared  at  the  stair-top.  She  was 
deathly  pale;  and  her  dark  eyes  were  dilated  with 
terror. 

Gavin  ran  up  the  steps  to  meet  her.  For  she  swayed 
perilously  as  she  made  her  way  down  toward  the 
men. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Milo,  excitedly.  "What's 
happened?" 

Claire  struggled  visibly  to  regain  her  composure. 
Then,  speaking  with  forced  calmness,  she  said : 

"I've  just  seen  a  ghost !    Rodney  Hade's  ghost !" 

The  two  looked  at  her  in  dumb  incomprehension. 
Then,  without  a  word,  Milo  wheeled  and  strode  to  the 
window  from  which  they  had  watched  the  tragedy. 
Opening  the  shutter,  he  peered  out  into  the  moonlight. 

"Hade's  still  lying  where  he  fell,"  he  "reported, 
tersely.  "They  haven't  even  bothered  to  move  him. 
You  were  dreaming.  If " 

"I  wasn't  asleep,"  she  denied,  a  trace  of  color  be- 
ginning to  creep  back  into  her  blanched  cheeks.  "I 
had  just  lain  down.  I  heard — or  thought  I  heard — a 
sound  on  the  veranda  roof.  I  peeped  out  through  the 
grill  of  the  shutter.  There,  on  the  roof,  not  ten  feet 
away  from  me,  stood  Rodney  Hade.  He  was  dressed 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE        243 

in  rags.  But  I  recognized  him.  I  saw  his  face,  as 
clearly  as  I  see  yours.  He " 

"One  of  the  Caesars,"  suggested  Brice.  "They  found 
the  lower  windows  barred  and  they  sent  some  one  up, 
to  see  if  there  was  any  ingress  by  an  upper  window. 
The  porch  is  easy  to  climb,  with  all  those  vines.  So 
is  the  whole  house,  for  that  matter.  He " 

"It  was  Rodney  Hade!"  she  insisted,  shuddering. 
"I  saw  his  face  with  the  moonlight  on  it " 

"And  with  a  few  unbecoming  scratches  on  it,  too, 
from  the  underbrush  and  from  those  porch  vines," 
chimed  in  a  suave  voice  from  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
"Milo,  next  time  you  bar  your  house,  I  suggest  you 
don't  forget  and  leave  the  cupola  window  open.  If  it 
was  easy  for  me  to  climb  up  there  from  the  veranda 
roof,  it  would  be  just  as  easy  for  any  of  our  friends 
out  yonder." 

Down  the  stairs — slowly,  nonchalantly, — lounged 
Rodney  Hade. 

His  classic  mask  of  a  face  was  marred  by  one  or 
two  scratches  and  by  a  smudge  of  dirt.  But  it  was  as 
calm  and  as  eternally  smiling  as  ever.  In  place  of  his 
wontedly  correct,  if  garish,  form  of  dress,  he  was  clad 
in  ragged  calico  shirt  and  soiled  drill  trousers  whose 
lower  portions  were  in  ribbons.  All  of  which  formed 
a  ludicrous  contrast  to  his  white  buckskin  yachting 
shoes  and  his  corded  white  silk  socks. 

Claire  and  the  two  men  stood  staring  up  at  him  in 
utter  incredulity.  Bobby  Burns  broke  the  spell  by 
bounding  snarlingly  toward  the  unkempt  intruder. 


244         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

Brice  absentmindedly  caught  the  dog's  collar  as  Bobby 
streaked  past  him  on  his  punitive  errand. 

"Hade!"  croaked  Standish,  his  throat  sanded  with 
horror.  "Hade!  I — we — we  saw  you — murdered!" 

Hade  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Perhaps  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought?"  he 
hinted,  with  an  indulgent  twinkle  in  his  perpetual 
smile.  "I  hate  mysteries.  Here's  an  end  to  this  one: 
I  was  on  my  way  along  the  path,  when  a  young  fellow 
came  whirling  around  a  bend  and  collided  with  me. 
The  impact  knocked  him  off  his  feet.  I  collared  him. 
He  didn't  want  to  talk.  But,"  the  smile  twisting  up- 
ward at  one  corner  of  the  mouth  in  a  look  which  did 
not  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  ascetic  face,  "I  used  per- 
suasion. And  I  found  what  was  going  on  here.  I 
stripped  off  my  outer  clothes,  and  made  him  put  them 
on.  Then  I  put  my  yachting  cap  on  him  and  pulled  it 
low  over  his  eyes.  And  I  bandaged  his  mouth  with 
my  handkerchief,  to  gag  him.  Then  I  walked  him 
along,  ahead  of  me.  I  gave  the  signal.  And  I  stuck 
my  cigarette  in  his  hand  and  shoved  him  through  the 
screen  of  vines.  They  finished  him,  poor  fool !  I  had 
no  outer  clothes  of  my  own.  So  I  went  back  and  put 
on  his.  Then  I  slipped  through  that  chuckleheaded  ag- 
gregation out  there  and — here  I  am." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  he  turned  his  icy  smile  upon 
Gavin  Brice. 

"Roke  signaled  a  fruit  boat,  Mr.  Brice,"  said  he, 
"and  came  over  to  where  my  yacht  was  lying;  to  tell  me 
you  had  gotten  loose.  That  was  why  I  came  here,  to- 
night. He  seems  to  think  you  know  more  than  a  man 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       245 

should  know  and  yet  stay  alive.  And,  as  a  rule,  he  is 
apt  to  be  right.  He " 

"Miss  Standish,"  interposed  Gavin,  "would  you 
mind  very  much,  going  into  some  other  room?  This 
isn't  a  pleasant  scene  for  you." 

"Stay  where  you  are,  for  a  minute,  Claire!"  com- 
manded Milo,  shaking  off  a  lethargy  of  wonder  which 
had  settled  upon  him,  at  sight  of  his  supposedly  dead 
tyrant.  "I  want  you  to  hear  what  I've  got  to  say.  And 
I  want  you  to  endorse  it.  I've  had  a  half  hour  of  free- 
dom. And  it's  meant  too  much  to  me,  to  let  me  go 
back  into  the  hell  I've  lived  through,  this  past  few 
months." 

He  wheeled  about  on  the  newcomer  and  addressed 
him ;  speaking  loudly  and  rapidly  in  a  voice  hoarse  wtih 
rage: 

"Hade,  I'm  through!  Get  that?  I'm  through!  You 
can  foreclose  on  my  home  here;  and  you  can  get  me 
sent  to  prison  for  that  check  I  was  insane  enough  to 
raise  when  I  had  no  way  out  of  the  hole.  But  I'm 
through.  It  isn't  worth  it.  Nothing  is  worth  having 
to  cringe  and  cheat  for.  I'm  through  cringing  to  you. 
And  I'm  through  cheating  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment. You  weren't  content  with  making  me  do  that. 
You  tried,  to-day,  to  make  me  a  murderer — to  make 
me  your  partner  in  the  death  of  the  man  who  had  saved 
my  life.  When  I  found  that  out — when  I  learned  what 
you  could  stoop  to  and  could  drag  me  to, — I  swore  to 
myself  to  cut  free  from  you,  for  all  time.  Now,  go 
ahead  and  do  your  dirtiest  to  me  and  to  mine.  What 


246         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

I  said,  goes.  And  it  goes  for  my  sister,  too.  Doesn't 
it,  dear  girl?" 

For  answer,  Claire  caught  her  brother's  big  hand 
in  both  of  hers,  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  A  light  of 
happiness  transfigured  her  face.  Milo  pulled  away 
his  hand,  bashfully,  his  eyes  misting  at  her  wordless 
praise  for  his  belatedly  manly  action. 

"Good!"  he  approved,  passing  his  arm  about  her 
and  drawing  her  close  to  him.  "I  played  the  cur 
once,  this  evening.  It's  good  to  know  I've  had  enough 
pluck  to  do  this  one  white  thing,  to  help  make  up 
for  it." 

He  faced  Gavin ;  head  thrown  back,  giant  shoulders 
squared,  eyes  alight. 

"Mr.  Brice,"  he  said,  clearly.  "Through  you,  I  sur- 
render to  the  United  States  Government.  I'll  make  a 
signed  confession,  any  time  you  want  it.  I'm  your 
prisoner." 

Gavin  shook  his  head. 

"The  confession  will  be  of  great  service,  later,"  said 
he,  "and,  as  state's  evidence,  it  will  clear  you  from  any 
danger  of  punishment.  But  you're  not  my  prisoner. 
Thanks  to  your  promise  of  a  confession.  I  have  a  pris- 
oner, here.  But  it  is  not  you." 

"No?"  suavely  queried  Hade,  whose  everlasting 
smile  had  not  changed  and  whose  black  eyes  remained 
as  serene  as  ever,  through  the  declaration  of  rebellion 
on  the  part  of  his  satellite.  "If  Standish  is  not  your 
prisoner,  he'll  be  the  State  of  Florida's  prisoner,  by 
this  time  to-morrow;  when  I  have  lodged  his  raised 
check  with  the  District  Attorney.  Think  that  over, 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       247 

Standish,  my  dear  friend.  Seven  years  for  forgery  is 
not  a  joyous  thing;  even  in  a  Florida  prison.  Here, 
in  the  community  where  your  family's  name  has  been 
honored,  it  will  come  extra  hard.  And  on  Claire,  here, 
too.  Mightn't  it  be  better  to  think  that  over,  a  min- 
ute or  so;  before  announcing  your  virtuous  intent? 
Mightn't " 

"Don't  listen  to  him,  Milo!"  cried  the  girl,  seizing 
Standish's  hand  again  in  an  agony  of  appeal,  and  smil- 
ing encouragingly  up  into  his  sweating  and  irreso- 
lute face.  "We'll  go  through  any  disgrace,  together. 
You  and  I.  And  after  it's  all  over,  I'll  give  up  my 
whole  life  to  making  you  happy;  and  helping  you  to 
get  on  your  feet  again." 

"There'll  be  no  need  for  that,  Miss  Standish,"  said 
Brice.  "Of  course,  Hade  can  foreclose  his  mortgage 
on  your  half-brother's  property  and  call  in  Standish's 
notes,^if  he's  in  a  position  to  do  it;  which  I  don't 
think  he  will  be.  But,  as  for  the  raised  check,  why, 
he's  threatening  Standish  with  an  empty  gun.  Hade, 
if  ever  you  get  home  again,  look  in  the  compartment 
of  your  strongbox  where  you  put  the  red-sealed  en- 
velope with  Standish's  check  in  it.  The  envelope  is 
still  there.  So  are  the  seals.  The  check  is  not.  You 
can  verify  that,  for  yourself,  later;  perhaps.  In  the 
meantime,  take  my  word  for  it." 

A  cry  of  delight  from  Claire — a  groan  from  Stan- 
dish  that  carried  with  it  a  world  of  supreme  relief — 
broke  in  upon  Gavin's  recital.  Paying  no  heed  to 
either  of  his  hosts,  Brice  walked  across  to  the  un- 


248         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

movedly  smiling  Hade;  and  placed  one  hand  on  the 
latter 's  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Hade,"  said  he,  quietly,  "I  am  an  officer  of 
the  Federal  Secret  Service.  I  place  you  under  arrest, 
on  charges  of " 

With  a  hissing  sound,  like  a  striking  snake's,  Rod- 
ney Hade  shook  off  the  detaining  hand.  In  the  same 
motion,  he  leaped  backward,  drawing  from  his  torn 
pocket  an  automatic  pistol. 

Brice,  unarmed,  stood  for  an  instant  looking  into 
the  squat  little  weapon's  black  muzzle;  and  at  the 
gleaming  black  eyes  in  the  ever-smiling  white  face  be- 
hind it. 

He  was  not  afraid.  Many  times,  before,  had  he 
faced  leveled  guns;  and,  like  many  another  war-vet- 
eran, he  had  outgrown  the  noimal  man's  dread  of  such 
weapons. 

But  as  he  was  gathering  his  strength  for  a  spring  at 
his  opponent, — trusting  that  the  suddenness  and  unex- 
pectedness of  his  onset  might  shake  the  other's  aim, 
— Rodney  Hade  took  the  situation  into  his  own  hands. 

Not  at  random  had  he  made  that  backward  leap.  Still 
covering  Gavin  with  his  pistol,  he  flashed  one  hand 
behind  him  and  pressed  the  switch-button  which  con- 
trolled the  electric  lights  in  the  hallway  and  the  ad- 
joining rooms. 

Black  darkness  filled  the  place.  Brice  sprang  for- 
ward through  the  dark,  to  grapple  with  the  man.  But 
Hade  was  nowhere  within  reach  of  Brice's  outflung 
arms.  Rodney  had  slipped,  snakelike,  to  one  side; 
foreseeing  just  such  a  move  on  the  part  of  his  foe. 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       249 

Gavin  strained  his  ears,  to  note  the  man's  direction. 
But  Milo  Standish  was  thrashing  noisily  about;  in  an 
effort  to  locate  and  seize  the  fugitive.  And  the  racket 
his  huge  body  made,  in  hitting  against  furniture  and 
in  caroming  off  the  walls  and  doors,  filled  the  hall 
with  din. 

Remembering  at  last  the  collie's  presence  in  that  mass 
of  darkness,  Gavin  shouted: 

"Bobby!    Bobby  Burns!    Take  him!" 

From  somewhere  in  the  gloom,  there  was  a  beast- 
snarl  and  a  scurry  of  clawed  feet  on  the  polished  floor. 
At  the  same  time  the  front  door  flew  wide. 

Silhouetted  against  the  bright  moonlight,  Brice  had 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  Hade,  darting  out  through  the 
doorway;  and  of  a  tawny-and-white  canine  whirlwind 
flying  at  the  man's  throat. 

But  Brice's  shout  of  command  had  been  a  fraction  of 
a  second  too  late.  Swiftly  as  had  the  collie  obeyed, 
Rodney  Hade  had  already  reached  and  silently  un- 
barred the  door,  by  the  time  the  dog  got  under  way. 
And,  as  Bobby  Burns  sprang,  the  door  slammed  shut 
in  his  face;  leaving  the  collie  growling  and  tearing  at 
the  unyielding  panels. 

Then  it  was  that  Claire  found  the  electric  switch, 
with  her  groping  hands ;  and  pressed  the  button.  The 
hall  and  its  adjoining  rooms  were  flooded  with  light; 
revealing  the  redoubtable  Bobby  Burns  hurling  himself 
again  and  again  at  the  closed  door. 

Gavin  shoved  the  angry  dog  aside;  and  opened  the 
portal.  He  sprang  out,  the  dog  beside  him.  And  as 
they  did  so,  both  of  them  crashed  into  a  veranda  couch 


250         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

which  Hade,  in  escaping,  had  thrust  across  the  closed 
doorway  in  anticipation  of  just  such  a  move. 

Over  went  the  couch,  under  the  double  impetus.  By 
catching  at  the  doorway  frame,  Gavin  barely  managed 
to  save  himself  from  a  nasty  fall.  The  dog  disentangled 
himself  from  an  avalanche  of  couch  cushions  and 
made  furiously  for  the  veranda  steps. 

But  Brice  summoned  him  back.  He  was  not  minded 
to  let  Bobby  risk  life  from  knife-cut  or  from  strong, 
strangling  hands ;  out  there  in  the  perilous  shadows  be- 
yond the  lawn.  And  he  knew  the  futility  of  follow- 
ing Hade,  himself,  among  merciless  men  and  through 
labyrinths  with  whose  windings  Rodney  was  far  more 
familiar  than  was  he.  So,  reluctantly,  he  turned  back 
into  the  house.  A  glance  over  the  moonlit  lawn  revealed 
no  sign  of  the  fugitive. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  to  Standish,  as  he  shut  the 
door  behind  him  and  patted  the  fidgetingly  excited 
Bobby  Burns  on  the  head.  "I  may  never  have  such  a 
good  chance  at  him  again.  And  your  promise  of  a 
confession  was  the  thing  that  made  me  arrest  him. 
Your  evidence  would  have  been  enough  to  convict  him. 
And  that's  the  only  thing  that  could  have  convicted 
him  or  made  it  worth  while  to  arrest  him.  He's  worked 
too  skillfully  to  give  us  any  other  hold  on  him.  .  .  . 
I  was  a  thickwitted  idiot  not  to  think,  sooner,  of  call- 
ing to  Bobby.  I'd  stopped  him,  once,  when  he  went 
for  Hade ;  and  of  course  he  wouldn't  attack  again,  right 
away,  without  leave.  A  dog  sees  in  the  dark,  ten  times 
as  well  as  any  man  does.  Bobby  was  the  solution.  And 
I  forgot  to  use  him  till  it  was  too  late.  With  a  collie 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE        251 

raging  at  his  throat,  Hade  would  have  had  plenty  of 
trouble  in  getting  away;  or  even  in  using  his  gun. 
Lord,  but  I'm  a  dunce!" 

"You're — you're — splendid!"  denied  Claire,  her 
eyes  soft  and  shining  and  her  cheeks  aglow.  "You 
faced  that  pistol  without  one  atom  of  fear.  And  I 
could  see  your  muscles  tensing  for  a  spring,  right  at 
him,  before  the  light  went  out." 

Gavin  Brice's  heart  hammered  mightily  against  his 
ribs,  at  her  eager  praise.  The  look  in  her  eyes  went  to 
his  brain.  Through  his  mind  throbbed  the  exultant 
thought : 

"She  saw  my  muscles  tense  as  he  aimed  at  me.  That 
means  she  was  looking  at  me!  Not  at  him.  Not  even 
at  the  pistol.  She  couldn't  have  done  that,  unless — 
unless •" 

"What's  to  be  done,  now?"  asked  Milo,  turning  in- 
stinctively to  Gavin  for  orders. 

The  question  brought  the  dazedly  joyous  man  back 
to  his  senses.  With  exaggerated  matter-of-factedness, 
he  made  reply : 

"Why,  the  most  sensible  thing  we  can  all  do,  just 
now,  is  to  eat  dinner.  A  square  meal  works  wonders 
in  bracing  people  up.  Miss  Standish,  do  you  think  you 
can  rouse  the  maids  to  an  effort  to  get  us  some  sort  of 
food?  If  not,  we  can  forage  for  ourselves,  in  the  ice- 
box. What  do  you  think?" 


Two  hours  later — after  a  sketchy  meal  served  by 
trembling-handed  servants — the  trio  were  seated  in  the 


252         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

music-room.  Over  and  over,  a  dozen  times,  they  had 
reviewed  their  position,  from  all  angles.  And  they 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  sanest  thing  to  do 
was  to  wait  in  comfortable  safety  behind  stoutly  shut- 
tered windows  until  the  dawn  of  day  should  bring  the 
place's  laborers  back  to  work.  Daylight,  and  the 
prospect  of  others'  presence  on  the  grounds,  was  cer- 
tain to  disperse  the  Caesars.  And  it  would  be  ample 
time  then  to  go  to  Miami  and  to  safer  quarters ;  while 
Gavin  should  start  the  hunt  after  Rodney  Hade.  The 
two  men  had  agreed  to  divide  the  night  into  watches. 

"One  of  the  torpedo-boat  destroyers  down  yonder, 
off  Miami,  can  ferret  out  Hade's  yacht  and  lay  it  by  the 
heels,  in  no  time,"  explained  Brice.  "His  house  is 
watched,  always,  lately.  And  every  port  and  railroad 
will  be  watched,  too.  The  chief  reason  I  want  to  get 
hold  of  him  is  to  find  where  he  has  sent  the  treasure. 
You  have  no  idea,  either  of  you?" 

"No,"  answered  Milo.  "He  explained  to  me  that 
he  was  sending  it  North,  to  a  place  where  nobody  could 
possibly  find  it;  and  that,  as  soon  as  it  was  all  there, 
he'd  begin  disposing  of  it.  Then  we  were  to  have  our 
settlement,  after  it  was  melted  down  and  sold." 

"Who  works  with  him?  I  mean,  who  helps  him 
bring  the  stuff  here?  Who,  besides  you,  I  mean?" 

"Why,  his  yacht-crew,"  said  Milo.  "They're  all 
picked  men  of  his  own.  Men  he  has  known  for  years 
and  has  bound  to  himself  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  He 
has  only  eleven  of  them,  for  it's  a  small  yacht.  But 
he  says  he  owns  the  souls  of  each  and  every  one  of 
the  lot.  He  pays  them  double  wages  and  gives  them 


THE  FIGURE  IN  WHITE       253 

a  fat  bonus  on  anything  he  employs  them  on.  They're 
nearly  all  of  them  men  who  have  done  time ;  and " 

"A  sweet  aggregation,  for  this  part  of  the  twentieth 
century!"  commented  Gavin.  "I  wish  I'd  known 
about  all  that,"  he  added,  musingly.  "I  supposed  you 
and  one  or  two  men  like  Roke  were  the  only " 

"Roke  is  more  devoted  to  him  than  any  dog  could 
be,"  said  Claire.  "He  worships  him.  And,  speaking 
of  dogs,  I  left  Bobby  Burns  in  the  kitchen,  getting 
his  supper.  I  forgot  all  about  him." 

She  set  down  Simon  Cameron,  who  was  drows- 
ing in  her  lap;  and  got  to  her  feet.  As  she  did  so,  a 
light  step  sounded  in  the  hallway,  outside.  Gavin 
jumped  up  and  hurried  past  her. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  see  Rodney  Hade  cross  the 
last  yard  or  so  of  the  hallway ;  and  unlock  and  open  the 
front  door. 

The  man  had  evidently  entered  the  house  from  above ; 
though  all  the  shutters  were  still  barred  and  the  door 
from  the  cupola  had  later  been  locked.  Remembering 
the  flimsy  lock  on  that  door,  Gavin  realized  how  Hade 
could  have  made  an  entrance. 

But  why  Hade  was  now  stealing  to  the  front  door 
and  opening  it,  was  more  than  his  puzzled  brain  could 
grasp.  All  this  flashed  through  Brice's  mind,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  his  enemy ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  was 
aware  that  Hade  was  no  longer  clad  in  rags ;  but  wore 
a  natty  white  yachting  suit. 

Before  these  impressions  had  had  full  time  to  regis- 
ter themselves  on  Gavin's  brain,  he  was  in  motion.  This 


254         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

time,  he  was  resolved,  the  prey  should  not  slip  through 
his  fingers. 

As  Brice  took  the  first  forward-springing  step,  Hade 
finished  unfastening  the  door  and  flung  it  wide. 

In  across  the  threshold  poured  a  cascade  of  armed 
men.  Hard-faced  and  tanned  they  were,  one  and  all; 
and  dressed  as  yacht  sailors. 

Then  Gavin  Brice  knew  what  had  happened;  and 
that  his  own  life  was  not  worth  a  chipped  plate. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  GHOST  TREE 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  GHOST  TREE 

CLAIRE  STANDISH  had  followed  Brice  to  the 
curtained  doorway  of  the  library.  She,  too,  had 
heard  the  light  step  in  the  hall.  Its  sound,  and  the  gal- 
vanizing effect  it  had  had  on  Gavin,  aroused  her  sharp 
interest. 

She  reached  the  hallway  just  in  time  to  see  Hade 
swing  open  -the  door  and  admit  the  thronging  group 
of  sailors  from  his  yacht. 

But  not  even  the  sight  of  Hade,  and  these  ruffians 
of  his,  astounded  her  as  did  the  action  of  Gavin  Brice. 

Brice  had  been  close  behind  Hade  as  the  door  swung 
wide.  His  incipient  rush  after  his  enemy  had  carried 
him  thus  far,  when  the  tables  had  so  suddenly  been 
turned  against  him  and  the  Standishes. 

Now,  without  pausing  in  his  onward  dash,  he  leaped 
past  Hade  and  straight  among  the  in-pouring  sailors. 

Hade  had  not  been  aware  of  Brice's  presence  in  the 
hall.  The  sailors'  eyes  were  momentarily  dazzled  by 
the  brightness  of  the  lights.  Thus,  they  did  not  take 
in  the  fact  of  the  plunging  figure,  in  time  to  check  its 
flight. 

Straight  through  their  unprepared  ranks  Gavin  Brice 
tore  his  way.  So  might  a  veteran  football  halfback 

257 


258         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

smash  a  path  through  the  rushline  of  a  vastly  inferior 
team. 

Hade  cried  out  to  his  men ;  and  drew  his  pistol.  But 
even  as  he  did  so,  the  momentarily  glimpsed  Gavin 
was  lost  to  his  view;  amid  the  jostling  and  jostled 
sailors. 

Past  the  loosely  crowding  men,  Brice  ripped  his  way ; 
and  out  onto  the  veranda  which  he  cleared  at  a  bound. 
Then,  running  low,  but  still  at  top  speed,  he  sped 
around  the  bottom  of  the  porch;  past  the  angle  of  the 
house  and  straight  for  the  far  side. 

He  did  not  make  for  the  road ;  but  for  the  enclosure 
into  which  he  had  peeped  that  morning;  and  for  the 
thick  shade  which  shut  off  the  moon's  light. 

Now,  he  ran  with  less  caution.  For,  he  knew  the 
arrival  of  so  formidable  a  body  of  men  must  have 
been  enough  to  send  the  Caesars  scattering  for  cover. 

Before  he  reached  the  enclosure  he  veered  abruptly 
to  one  side;  dashing  across  a  patch  of  moonlit  turf; 
and  heading  for  the  giant  live  oak  that  stood  gauntly 
in  its  center. 

Under  the  "Ghost  Tree's"  enormous  shade  he  came 
to  a  stop;  glancing  back  to  see  if  the  direction  of  his 
headlong  flight  had  been  noted.  Above  him  towered 
the  mighty  corpse  of  what  had  once  been  an  ancestral 
tree.  He  remembered  how  it  had  stood  there,  bleakly, 
under  the  morning  sunlight; — its  myriad  spreading 
branches  and  twigs  long  since  killed  by  the  tons  of 
parasitical  gray  moss  which  festooned  its  every  inch  of 
surface  with  long  trailing  masses  of  dead  fluff. 

Not  idly  had  Brice  studied  that  weird  tree  and  its 


THE  GHOST  TREE  259 

position.  Now,  standing  beneath  its  black  shade,  he 
drew  forth  a  matchbox  he  had  taken  from  the  smoking 
table  after  dinner. 

Cautiously  striking  a  match  and  shielding  it  in  his 
cupped  palms,  he  applied  the  bit  of  fire  to  the  lowest- 
hanging  spray  of  the  avalanche  of  dead  gray  moss. 

A  month  of  bone-dry  weather  had  helped  to  make 
his  action  a  success.  The  moss  ignited  at  first  touch  of 
the  match.  Up  along  the  festoon  shot  a  tongue  of  red 
flame.  The  nearest  adjoining  branch's  burden  of  moss 
caught  the  fiery  breath  and  burst  into  blaze. 

With  lightning  speed,  the  fire  roared  upward;  the 
branches  to  either  side  blazing  as  the  outsputtering 
flames  kissed  them. 

In  a  little  more  than  a  breath,  the  gigantic  tree  was  a 
roaring  sheet  of  red-and-gold-fire ;  a  ninety-foot  torch 
which  sent  its  flood  of  lurid  light  to  the  skies  above  and 
made  the  earth  for  a  radius  of  two  hundred  yards  as 
bright  as  day. 

Far  out  to  sea  that  swirling  tower  of  scarlet  flame 
hurled  its  illumination.  For  miles  on  every  hand  it 
could  be  seen.  The  sound  of  its  crackle  and  hiss  and 
roar  was  deafening.  The  twigs,  dry  and  dead,  caught 
fire  from  the  surrounding  blaze  of  moss;  and  com- 
municated their  flame  to  the  thicker  branches  and  to  the 
tree's  towering  summit. 

And  thus  the  fierce  vividness  of  blazing  wood  was 
added  to  the  lighter  glare  of  the  inflammable  moss. 

The  spectacle  was  incredibly  beautiful;  but  still  more 
awesome  and  terrifying.  The  crackle  and  snap  of  burn- 


260         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

ing  wood  broke  forth  on  the  night  air  like  the  purr  of 
fifty  machine  guns. 

But  Gavin  Brice  had  not  waited  to  gaze  on  what 
was  perhaps  the  most  marvelous  display  of  pyrotech- 
nics ever  beheld  on  the  Florida  coast.  At  first  touch 
of  flame  to  the  first  festoon  of  moss,  he  had  taken  to 
his  heels. 

Claire  Standish  gazed  in  unbelieving  horror  at  the 
seemingly  panic  flight  of  the  man  who  had  so  strangely 
dominated  her  life  and  her  brother's,  during  these 
past  few  hours.  He  had  faced  death  at  Rodney  Hade's 
pistol;  he  had  been  lazily  calm  at  the  possibility 
of  a  rush  from  the  Caesars.  He  had  shown  himself 
fearless,  amusedly  contemptuous  of  danger.  Yet  here 
he  was  fleeing  for  his  very  life  and  leaving  the  Stan- 
dishes  at  the  mercy  of  the  merciless ! 

More; — unless  she  had  deceived  herself,  grossly, 
Claire  had  seen  in  his  eyes  the  lovelight  that  all  his 
assumption  of  indifference  had  not  been  able  to  quench. 
She  had  surprised  it  there,  not  once  but  a  score  of 
times.  And  it  had  thrilled  her,  unaccountably.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  that,  he  was  deserting  her  in  her  moment 
of  direst  peril! 

Then,  through  her  soul  surged  the  gloriously,  di- 
vinely, illogical  Faith  that  is  the  God-given  heritage 
of  the  woman  who  loves.  And  all  at  once  she  knew  this 
man  had  not  deserted  her ;  that  right  blithely  he  would 
lay  down  his  life  for  her.  That,  somehow  or  other, 
he  had  acted  for  her  good.  And  a  feeling  of  calm  ex- 
ultation filled  her. 


THE  GHOST  TREE  261 

Hade  stood  in  the  doorway,  barking  sharp  commands 
to  several  of  his  men ;  calling  to  them  by  name.  And 
at  each  call,  they  obeyed;  like  dogs  at  their  master's 
bidding.  They  dashed  off  the  veranda,  in  varying  di- 
rections, at  a  lurching  run,  in  belated  pursuit  of  the 
fleeing  Brice. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Hade  faced  about  and  con- 
fronted the  unflinching  girl  and  Standish  who  had 
lumbered  dazedly  out  of  the  library  and  who  stood 
blinking  at  Claire's  side. 

Lifting  his  yachting  cap,  with  exaggerated  courtesy, 
Hade  bowed  to  them.  The  eternal  smile  on  his  face 
was  intensified ;  as  he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  pair. 

"Well,"  he  said,  and  his  black  eyes  strayed  as  if  by 
accident  to  Claire's  face,  "our  heroic  friend  seems  to 
have  cracked  under  the  strain,  eh?  Cut  and  ran,  like 
a  rabbit.  Frankly,  my  dear  Milo,  you'd  do  better  to 
put  your  reliance  on  me.  A  man  who  will  run  away,— 
with  a  woman  looking  on,  too— and  leaving  you  both 
in  the  lurch;  after  promising  to " 

There  was  a  clatter  on  the  veranda;  and  Roke's 
enormous  bulk  shouldered  its  way  through  what  was 
left  of  the  group  of  sailors;  his  roustabout  costume  at 
ugly  variance  with  their  neat  attire. 

"Did  you  find  him?"  demanded  Hade,  turning  at  the 
sound. 

"No!"  panted  Roke,  in  keen  excitement.  "But  we'd 
better  clear  out,  Boss !  All  Dade  County's  liable  to  be 
here  in  another  five  minutes.  The  old  Ghost  .Tree's 
on  fire.  Listen!  You  can  hear " 


262         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

He  finished  his  staccato  speech  by  lifting  his  hand 
for  silence.  And,  in  the  instant's  hush  could  be  heard 
the  distant  roar  of  a  million  flames. 

"He  didn't  desert  us!"  cried  the  girl,  in  ecstatic 
triumph.  "I  knew  he  didn't!  I  knew  it!  He " 

But  Hade  did  not  stop  to  hear  her.  At  a  bound  he 
reached  the  veranda  and  was  on  the  lawn  below;  run- 
ning around  the  side  of  the  house  with  his  men  trail- 
ing at  his  heels. 

Out  in  the  open,  he  halted;  staring  aghast  at  the 
column  of  fire  that  soared  heavenward  and  filled  the 
night  with  lurid  brightness.  Back  to  him,  one  by  one, 
came  the  four  sailors  he  had  sent  in  pursuit  of  Gavin. 
And,  for  a  space,  all  stood  gazing  in  silence  at  the 
awesome  spectacle. 

Roke  broke  the  spell  by  tugging  at  Hade's  coat ;  and 
urging  eagerly : 

"Best  get  out,  at  the  double-quick,  Boss !  This  blaze 
is  due  to  bring  folks  a-runnin',  an' !" 

"Well?"  inquired  Hade,  impatiently.  "What  then? 
They'll  find  us  looking  at  a  burning  tree.  Is  there  any 
law  against  that?  I  brought  you  and  the  crew  ashore, 
to-night,  to  help  shift  some  heavy  furniture  that  came 
from  up  North  last  week.  On  the  way,  we  saw  this 
tree  and  stopped  to  look  at  it.  Where's  the  crime  in 
that?  You  talk  like  a " 

"But  if  the  Standishes  blab " 

"They  won't.  That  Secret  Service  sneak  has  bolted. 
Without  him  to  put  backbone  in  them,  they'll  eat  out 
of  my  hand.  Don't  worry.  They " 

"Here  comes  some  of  the  folks,  now,"  muttered 


THE  GHOST  TREE  263 

Roke,  as  running  figures  began  to  appear  from  three 
sides.  "We'd  be  safer  to " 

His  warning  ended  in  a  gurgle  of  dismay. 

From  three  points  the  twenty-five  or  thirty  new  ar- 
rivals continued  to  run  forward.  But,  at  a  word  from 
some  one  in  front  of  them,  they  changed  their  direction; 
and  wheeled  in  triple  column,  almost  with  the  pre- 
cision of  soldiers. 

The  shift  of  direction  brought  them  converging,  not 
upon  the  tree,  but  upon  the  group  of  sailors  that  stood 
around  Hade.  It  was  this  odd  change  of  course  which 
had  stricken  Roke  dumb. 

And  now  he  saw  these  oncomers  were  not  farm- 
hands or  white-clad  neighbors ;  and  that  there  were  no 
women  among  them.  They  were  men  in  dark  clothes; 
they  were  stalwart  of  build  and  determined  of  aspect. 
There  was  a  certain  confident  teamwork  and  air  of 
professionalism  about  them  that  did  not  please  Roke 
at  all.  Again,  he  caught  at  his  master's  arm.  But  he 
was  too  late. 

Out  of  nothingness,  apparently,  darted  a  small  fig- 
ure, directly  behind  the  unsuspecting  Hade.  It  was 
as  though  he  had  risen  from  the  earth  itself. 

With  lightning  swiftness,  he  attached  himself  to  Rod- 
ney's throat  and  right  arm,  from  behind.  Hade  gave  a 
convulsive  start;  and,  with  his  free  hand  reached  back 
for  his  pistol.  At  the  same  time  Roke  seized  the 
dwarfish  stranger. 

Then,  two  things  happened,  at  once. 

Roke  wallowed  backward,  faint  with  pain  and  with 
one  leg  numb  to  the  thigh ;  from  an  adroit  smiting  of 


264         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

his  instep.  The  little  assailant's  heel  had  come  down 
with  trained  force  on  this  nerve  center.  And,  for  the 
moment,  Roke  was  not  only  in  agony  but  powerless. 

The  second  thing  to  happen  was  a  deft  twist  from  the 
imprisoning  arm  that  was  wrapped  around  Hade's 
throat  from  behind.  At  the  pressure,  Rodney's  grop- 
ing hand  fell  away  from  his  pistol  pocket ;  and  he  him- 
self toppled,  powerless,  toward  the  ground;  the  skilled 
wrench  of  the  carotid  artery  and  the  nerves  at  the  side 
of  the  throat  paralyzing  him  with  pain. 

Roke,  rolling  impotently  on  the  earth,  saw  the  little 
fellow  swing  Hade  easily  over  his  shoulder  and  start  for 
the  house.  At  the  same  time,  he  noted  through  his 
semi-delirium  of  agony  that  the  stalwart  men  had 
borne  down  upon  the  knot  of  gaping  sailors;  and,  at 
pistol-muzzle,  had  disarmed  and  handcuffed  them. 

It  was  all  over  in  less  than  fifteen  seconds.  But  not 
before  Roke's  beach  combing  wits  could  come  to  the 
aid  of  his  tortured  body.  Doubling  himself  into  a 
muscular  ball,  he  rolled  swiftly  under  the  shadow  of  a 
sprawling  magnolia  sapling ;  crouching  among  the  vine 
roots  which  surround  it.  There,  unobserved,  he  lay; 
hugging  the  dark  ground  as  scientifically  as  any  Semi- 
nole;  and  moving  not  an  eyelash. 

From  that  point  of  vantage,  he  saw  the  dark-clothed 
men  line  up  their  sullen  prisoners  and  march  them  off 
to  the  road,  where,  a  furlong  below,  the  fire  revealed 
the  dim  outlines  of  several  motor  cars.  Other  men,  at 
the  direction  of  the  same  leader  who  had  commanded 
the  advance,  trooped  toward  the  house.  And,  as  this 


THE  GHOST  TREE  265 

leader  passed  near  the  magnolia,  Roke  knew  him  for 
Gavin  Brice. 

From  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  Claire  and  Standish 
had  witnessed  the  odd  drama.  Wordless,  stricken 
dumb  with  amazement,  they  gazed  upon  the  fire-illu- 
mined scene.  Then,  toiling  across  the  grass  toward 
them  came  the  little  man  who  had  overcome  Rodney 
Hade.  On  his  shoulders,  as  unconcernedly  as  if  he 
were  bearing  a  light  sack,  he  carried  the  inert  body  of 
his  victim.  Straight  past  the  staring  brother  and  sister 
he  went,  and  around  the  house  to  the  front  steps. 

Milo  started  to  follow.  But  Claire  pointed  toward 
a  clump  of  men  who  were  coming  along  not  far  behind 
the  little  burden-bearer.  At  their  head,  hurried  some 
one  whose  figure  was  silhouetted  against  the  waning 
tree-glare.  And  both  the  watchers  recognized  him. 

Nearing  the  veranda,  Brice  spoke  a  few  words  to 
the  men  with  him.  They  scattered;  surrounding  the 
house.  Gavin  came  on  alone.  Seeing  the  man  and 
girl  above  him,  he  put  his  hands  up  to  the  rail  and 
vaulted  lightly  over  it,  landing  on  the  floor  beside  them. 

"Come !"  he  said,  briefly,  leading  the  way  around  the 
porch  to  the  front  door. 

They  followed;  reaching  the  hallway  just  in  time 
to  see  the  little  man  deposit  his  burden  on  the  couch. 
And  both  of  them  cried'out  in  astonishment.  For  the 
stripling  who  had  reduced  Rodney  Hade  to  numb 
paralysis  was  Sato,  their  own  recreant  Japanese  butler. 

At  sight  of  them,  he  straightened  himself  up  from 
the  couch  and  bowed.  Then,  in  flawless  English, — far 


266         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

different  from  the  pigeon-talk  he  had  always  used  for 
their  benefit, — he  said  respectfully,  to  Gavin : 

"I  brought  him  here,  as  you  said,  sir.  He's  coming 
around,  all  right.  After  the  pressure  is  off  the  carotid, 
numbness  doesn't  last  more  than  two  minutes." 

"Sato!"  gasped  Claire,  unbelieving;  while  Milo 
gurgled,  wordless.  The  erstwhile  butler  turned  back  to 
the  slowly  recovering  Hade.  Brice  laughed  at  their 
crass  astonishment. 

"This  is  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  Service,"  he 
explained.  "It  was  he  who  took  a  job  under  Hade 
and  who  got  hold  of  that  raised  check.  Hade  passed 
him  on  to  you,  to  spy  for  him.  He " 

"But,"  blithered  Standish,  "I  saw  him  tackle  Hade, 
before  all  the  crew.  He  was  playing  with  death.  Yet, 
when  you  tackled  him,  this  evening,  he  was  scared 
helpless." 

"He  was  'scared'  into  coming  into  the  room  and 
asking  in  Japanese  for  my  orders,"  rejoined  Brice.  "I 
gave  the  orders;  when  you  thought  I  was  airing  my 
Jap  knowledge  by  bawling  him  out.  I  told  him  to 
collect  the  men  we'd  posted ;  to  phone  for  others ;  and 
to  watch  for  the  signal  of  the  burning  tree.  If  the 
Caesars  weren't  going  to  attack  in  force,  I  saw  no 
need  in  filling  the  house  with  Secret  Service  agents. 
But  if  they  should  attack,  I  knew  I  could  slip  out,  as 
far  as  that  tree,  without  their  catching  me.  When 
Hade's  tea-party  arrived,  instead,  I  gave  the  signal. 
It  was  Sato  who  got  my  message  across  to  the  key, 
this  morning,  too.  As  for  my  pitching  him  out  of  here, 
this  evening, — well,  it  was  he  who  taught  me  all  I  know 


THE  GHOST  TREE  267 

of  jiu-jitsu.  He  used  to  be  champion  of  Nagasaki. 
If  he'd  chosen  to  resist,  he  could  have  broken  my 
neck  in  five  seconds.  Sato  is  a  wonder  at  the  game." 

The  Jap  grinned  expansively  at  the  praise.  Then 
he  glanced  at  Hade  and  reported: 

"He's  getting  back  his  powers  of  motion,  sir.  He'U 
be  all  right  in  another  half-minute." 

Rodney  Hade  sat  up,  with  galvanic  suddenness; 
rubbing  his  misused  throat  and  darting  a  swift  snake- 
like  glance  about  him.  His  eye  fell  on  the  three  men 
between  him  and  the  door.  Then,  at  each  of  the  two 
hallway  windows,  he  saw  other  men  posted,  on  the 
veranda.  And  he  understood  the  stark  helplessness  of 
his  situation.  Once  more  the  masklike  smile  settled  on 
his  pallid  face. 

"Mr.  Hade,"  said  Brice,  "for  the  second  time  this 
evening,  I  beg  to  tell  you  you  are  my  prisoner.  So 
are  your  crew.  The  house  is  surrounded.  Not  by 
Caesars,  this  time;  but  by  trained  Secret  Service  men. 
I  warn  you  against  trying  any  charlatan  tricks  on  them. 
They  are  apt  to  be  hasty  on  the  trigger ;  and  they  have 
orders  to  shoot  if " 

"My  dear  Brice,"  expostulated  Hade,  a  trifle  wear- 
ily, "if  we  were  playing  poker,  and  you  held  four  aces 
to  my  two  deuces — would  you  waste  breath  in  explain- 
ing to  me  that  I  was  hopelessly  beaten?  I'm  no  fool. 
I  gather  that  you've  marched  my  men  off  to  jail.  May 
I  ask  why  you  made  an  exception  of  me?  Why  did 
you  bring  me  back  here?" 

"Can't  you  imagine?"  asked  Brice.  "You  say  you're 
no  fool.  Prove  it.  Prove  it  by " 


268         BLACK  CJESAR'S  CLAN 

"By  telling  you  where  I  have  cached  as  much  of  the 
silver  as  we've  jettisoned  thus  far?"  supplemented 
Hade.  "Of  course,  the  heroic  Standish  will  show  you 
where  the  Caesar  cache  is,  down  there  in  the  inlet. 
But  I  am  the  only  man  who  knows  where  the  three- 
quarter  million  or  more  dollars  already  salvaged,  are 
salted  down.  And  you  brought  me  here  to  argue  me 
into  telling  ?  May  I  ask  what  inducements  you  offer  ?* 

"Certainly,"  said  Gavin,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. "Though  I  wonder  you  have  not  guessed  them." 

"Lighter  sentence,  naturally,"  suggested  Hade.  "But 
is  that  all?  Surely  it's  a  piker  price  for  Uncle  Sam 
to  pay  for  a  gift  of  nearly  a  million  dollars.  Can't 
you  better  it?" 

"I  am  not  the  court,"  returned  Brice,  nettled.  "But 
I  think  I  can  promise  you  a  fifty  per  cent  reduction 
in  what  would  be  the  average  sentence  for  such  an 
offense ;  and  a  lighter  job  in  prison  than  falls  to  the  lot 
of  most  Federal  criminals." 

"Good,"  approved  Hade;  adding:  "But  not  good 
enough.  I'm  still  in  the  thirties.  I'm  tougher  of  con- 
stitution than  I  look.  They  can't  sentence  me  for  more 
than  a  span  of  years.  And  when  my  term  is  up,  I  can 
enjoy  the  little  batch  of  1804  dollars  I've  laid  by.  I 
think  I'll  take  my  chance; — unless  you  care  to  raise 
the  ante." 

Brice  glanced  around  at  the  men  who  stood  on  the 
veranda.  Then  he  lowered  his  voice,  so  as  not  to  be 
heard  by  them. 

"You  are  under  courtmartial  sentence  of  death  as  a 
spy,  Mr.  Hade,"  he  whispered.  "The  war  is  over, 


THE  GHOST  TREE  269 

That  sentence  won't  be  imposed,  in  full,  I  imagine ;  in 
times  of  peace.  But  your  war  record  will  earn  you  an 
extra  sentence  that  will  come  close  to  keeping  you  in 
Atlanta  Penitentiary  for  life.  I  believe  I  am  the  only 
member  of  the  Department  who  knows  that  Major 
Heidenhoff  of  the  Wilhelmstrasse  and  Rodney  Hade 
are  the  same  man.  If  I  can  be  persuaded  to  keep  that 
knowledge  from  my  superiors,  in  return  for  full  in- 
formation as  to  where  the  1804  dollars  are  cached — 
those  you've  already  taken  from  the  inlet — and  if 
the  mortgage  papers  on  this  place  are  destroyed — 
well ?" 

"H'm!"  mused  Hade,  his  black  eyes  brooding  and 
speculative.  "H'm !  That  calls  for  a  bit  of  rather  care- 
ful weighing.  How  much  time  will  you  give  me  to 
think  it  over  and  decide?  A  week?" 

"Just  half  an  hour,  retorted  Gavin.  "My  other  men, 
who  took  your  silly  band  of  cutthroats  to  jail,  ought 
to  be  back  by  then.  I  am  waiting  here  till  they  report ; 
and  no  longer.  You  have  half  an  hour.  And  I  ad- 
vise you  to  make  sane  use  of  it." 

Hade  got  slowly  to  his  feet.  The  smile  was  gone 
from  his  lips.  His  strange  black  eyes  looked  inde- 
scribably tired  and  old.  There  was  a  sag  to  his  alert 
figure. 

"It's  hard  to  plan  a  coup  like  mine,"  he  sighed,  "and 
then  to  be  bilked  by  a  man  with  not  one-tenth  my  brain. 
Luck  was  with  you.  Blind  luck.  Don't  imagine  you've 
done  this  by  your  wits." 

As  he  spoke  he  shuffled  heavily  to  the  adjoining 
music-room;  and  let  his  dreary  gaze  stray  toward  its 


270         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

two  windows.  On  the  veranda,  framed  in  the  newly 
unshuttered  window-space,  stood  four  Secret  Service 
men,  grimly  on  guard. 

Hade  strode  to  one  window  after  the  other,  with  the 
cranky  mien  and  action  of  a  thwarted  child;  and 
slammed  the  shutters  together,  barring  out  the  sinister 
sight  of  his  guards.  Gavin  did  not  try  to  prevent  him 
from  this  act  of  boyish  spite.  The  master-mind's  reac- 
tion, in  its  hour  of  brokenness,  roused  his  pity. 

From  the  windows,  Hade's  gloomy  eyes  strayed  to 
the  piano.  On  it  lay  a  violin  case.  He  picked  it  up 
and  took  out  an  age-mellowed  violin. 

"I  think  clearer  when  I  play,"  he  said,  glumly,  to 
Brice.  "And  I've  nearly  a  million  dollars'  worth  of 
thinking  to  do  in  this  half  hour.  Is  it  forbidden  to 
fiddle?  Milo's  father  paid  $4,000  for  this  violin.  It's 
a  genuine  Strad.  And  it  gives  me  peace  and  clear 
vision.  May  I  play,  or ?" 

"Go  ahead,  if  you  want  to,"  vouchsafed  Gavin,  fan- 
cying he  read  the  attempt  of  a  charlatan  to  remain  pic- 
turesque to  the  end.  "Only  get  your  thinking  done, 
and  come  to  a  decision  before  the  half  hour  is  up.  And, 
by  the  way,  let  me  warn  you  again  that  those  men  out 
there  have  orders  to  shoot,  if  you  make  a  move  to 
escape." 

"No  use  in  asking  you  to  play  my  accompaniments, 
Claire?"  asked  Hade,  in  pathetic  attempt  at  gayety  as 
he  walked  to  the  hallway  door.  "No?  I'm  sorry.  No- 
body else  ever  played  them  as  you  do." 

He  tried  to  smile.  The  effort  was  a  failure.  He 
yanked  the  curtains  shut  that  hung  between  music 


THE  GHOST  TREE  271 

room  and  hall.  Then,  at  a  gesture  from  Gavin,  he 
pulled  them  halfway  open  again ;  and,  standing  in  the 
doorway,  drew  his  bow  across  the  strings. 

Gavin  sat  down  on  the  long  hall  couch,  a  yard  out- 
side the  music-room  door;  beside  Claire  and  the  still- 
stupefied  Milo.  The  Jap  took  up  his  position  back  of 
them,  alert  and  tense  as  a  fox  terrier.  The  three  Se- 
cret Service  men  in  the  front  doorway  stood  at  atten- 
tion, yet  evidently  wondering  at  the  prisoner's  queer 
freak. 

From  under  the  deftly  wielded  bow,  the  violin  wailed 
forth  into  stray  chords  and  phrases;  wild,  unearthly, 
discordant.  Hade,  his  face  bent  over  the  instrument, 
swayed  in  time  with  its  undisciplined  rhythm. 

Then,  from  dissonance  and  incoherence,  the  music 
merged  into  Gounod's  Ave  Maria.  And,  from  sway- 
ing, Hade  began  to  walk.  To  and  fro,  urged  by  the 
melody,  his  feet  strayed.  Now  he  was  in  full  view, 
between  the  half-open  curtains.  Now,  he  was  hidden 
for  an  instant;  and  then  he  was  crossing  once  more 
before  the  opening. 

His  playing  was  exquisite.  More — it  was  authori- 
tative, masterly,  soaring.  It  gripped  the  hearers' 
senses  and  heartstrings.  The  beauty  and  dreaminess  of 
the  Ave  Maria  flooded  the  air  with  loveliness.  Brice 
listened,  enthralled.  Down  Claire's  cheek  rolled  a  tear- 
drop, of  whose  existence  she  was  not  even  aware. 

The  last  notes  of  the  melody  throbbed  away.  Brice 
drew  a  long  breath.  Then,  at  once  the  violin  spoke 
again.  And  now  it  sang  forth  into  the  night,  in  the 


272         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

Schubert  Serenade; — gloriously  sweet;  a  surge  of 
passionate  tenderness. 

Back  and  forth,  under  the  spell  of  his  own  music, 
wandered  Hade.  Then  he  stopped.  Gavin  leaned  for- 
ward. He  saw  that  Hade  was  leaning  against  the 
piano,  as  he  played.  His  head  was  bowed  over  the 
instrument  as  though  in  reverence.  His  black  eyes 
were  dreamy  and  exalted.  Gavin  sat  back  on  the  couch 
and  once  more  gave  himself  over  to  the  mystic  enthrall- 
ment  of  the  music.  The  Serenade  wailed  itself  into 
silence  with  one  last  hushedly  exquisite  tone.  Brice 
drew  a  long  breath;  as  of  a  man  coming  out  of  a 
trance. 

Simon  Cameron  had  jumped  into  Claire's  lap.  But, 
receiving  no  attention  from  the  music-rapt  girl,  the 
cat  now  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  started  toward  the 
stairs. 

At  the  same  time,  the  violin  sounded  anew.  And 
Gavin  frowned  in  disappointment.  For,  no  longer  was 
it  singing  its  heart  out  in  the  magic  of  an  immortal 
melody.  Instead,  it  swung  into  the  once-popular 
strains  of  "Ok,  Promise  Me!" 

And  now  it  seemed  as  though  Hade  were  wantonly 
making  fun  of  his  earlier  beautiful  playing  and  of  the 
effect  he  must  have  known  it  had  had  upon  his  hearers. 
For  he  played  heavily,  monotonously;  more  like  a 
dance-hall  soloist  than  a  master.  And,  as  though  his 
choice  of  an  air  were  not  sharp  enough  contrast  to  his 
other  selections,  he  strummed  amateurishly  and  without 
a  shred  of  technique  or  of  feeling. 

Jarring  as  was  the  result  upon  Brice,  it  seemed  even 


THE  GHOST  TREE  273 

more  so  on  Simon  Cameron.  The  cat  had  stopped  in 
his  progress  toward  the  stairs ;  and  now  stared  round- 
eyed  at  the  music-room  doorway ;  his  absurd  little  nos- 
trils sniffing  the  air.  Then,  deliberately,  Simon  Cam- 
eron walked  to  the  doorway  and  sat  down  there;  his 
huge  furry  tail  curled  aiound  him;  staring  with  idiotic 
intentness  at  the  player. 

Gavin  noted  the  cat's  odd  behavior.  Simon  Cam- 
eron was  far  too  familiar  with  Hade's  presence  in  the 
house  to  give  Rodney  a  second  glance.  Indeed,  he 
had  only  jumped  up  into  Claire's  lap,  because  the 
fascinatingly  new  Secret  Service  men  at  the  front  door 
smelt  strongly  of  tobacco; — the  smell  a  Persian  cat 
hates  above  all  others.  But  now,  he  was  gazing  in 
delighted  interest  at  the  violinist. 

At  the  sight,  a  wild  conjecture  flashed  into  Gavin's 
brain.  With  a  sharp  order  to  the  Jap,  he  sprang  up 
and  rushed  into  the  music  room. 

Leaning  against  the  piano,  playing  the  rebellious  vio- 
lin, was — Roke! 

Rodney  Hade  had  vanished. 

The  windows  were  still  shuttered.  No  other  door 
gave  exit  from  the  music  room.  There  were  no  hang- 
ings, except  the  door-curtains;  and  there  was  no  fur- 
niture behind  which  a  child  could  hide  unseen.  Yet 
Hade  was  no  longer  there. 

Roke  laid  aside  his  violin,  at  sight  of  Gavin  and  the 
Jap.  At  the  former's  exclamation  of  amaze,  two  more 
of  the  Secret  Service  men  left  their  post  at  the  front 
door  and  ran  in.  The  tramp  of  their  hurrying  feet 
made  the  guards  outside  the  open  windows  of  the  music 


274         BLACK  OESAR'S  CLAN 

room  fling  wide  the  closed  shutters.  Clearly,  Hade 
had  not  escaped  past  them. 

Folding  his  arms,  and  grinning  impudently  at  the 
astounded  cordon  of  faces,  Roke  drawled : 

"I  just  dropped  in  to  say  'Howdy'  to  Mr.  Standish. 
Nobody  was  around.  So  I  made  bold  to  pick  up  the 
fiddle  and  have  a  little  spiel.  I  ain't  done  any  harm; 
and  there's  nothing  you-all  can  hold  me  on." 

For  ten  seconds  nobody  answered.  Nobody  spoke 
or  moved.  Then,  Gavin  Brice's  face  went  crimson  with 
sudden  fury  at  his  own  outwitting.  He  recalled  the 
musical  afternoon  at  Roustabout  Key  which  his  pres- 
ence had  interrupted;  and  Roke's  fanatical  devotion  to 
Hade. 

"I  begin  to  understand,"  he  said,  his  voice  muffled 
in  an  attempt  to  subdue  his  anger.  "You  and  Hade 
were  fond  of  the  violin,  eh?  And  for  some  reason 
or  other  you  long  ago  worked  up  a  series  of  signals 
on  it;  as  the  mind-reader  with  the  guitar-accompanist 
used  to  do  in  the  vaudeville  shows.  Those  discordant 
phrases  he  started  off  with  were  your  signal  to  come 
to  the  rescue.  And  you  came.  But  how  did  you  come  ? 
And  how  did  he  go  ?  Both  by  the  same  way,  of  course. 
But — there  isn't  even  a  chimney-piece  in  the  room." 

Once  more,  Roke  grinned  broadly.  "I  ain't  seen 
hide  nor  hair  of  Mr.  Hade,  not  since  this  afternoon," 
said  he.  "I  been  spendin'  the  evenin'  over  to  Landon's. 
Landon  is  a  tryin'  to  sell  me  his  farm.  Says  the  soil 
on  it  is  so  rich  that  he  ships  carloads  of  it  up  North,  to 
use  for  fertilizer.  Says " 

"Sato!"  broke  in  Brice.     "Can  you  make  him  talk? 


THE  GHOST  TREE  275 

Miss  Standish,  will  you  please  go  somewhere  else  for 
five  minutes  ?  This  is  not  going  to  be  a  pretty  sight." 

As  the  girl  turned,  obediently  yet  reluctantly,  from 
the  room,  the  Jap,  with  a  smile  of  perfect  bliss  on  his 
yellow  face,  advanced  toward  Roke. 

The  big  man  wheeled,  contemptuously,  upon  him. 
Sato  sprang  at  him.  With  a  hammerlike  fist,  Roke 
smote  at  the  oncoming  pigmy.  The  arm  struck,  to  its 
full  length.  But  it  did  not  reach  its  mark,  nor  return 
to  the  striker's  side.  By  a  queerly  crablike  shift  of  his 
wiry  body,  the  Jap  had  eluded  the  blow ;  and  had  fas- 
tened upon  the  arm,  above  the  elbow  and  at  the  wrist. 

A  cross-pull  wrench  of  the  Jap's  body  brought  a 
howl  of  pain  from  Roke  and  sent  him  floundering  help- 
lessly to  his  knees ;  while  the  merest  leverage  pressure 
from  his  conqueror  held  him  there.  But  the  Jap  was 
doing  more.  The  giant's  arm  was  bending  backward 
and  sideways  at  an  impossible  angle.  Nor  could  its 
owner  make  a  move  to  avert  the  growing  unbearable 
torture.  It  was  one  of  the  simplest,  yet  one  of  the 
most  effective  and  agonizing,  holds  in  all  jiu-jitsu. 

Thirty  seconds  of  it,  and  Roke's  bull-like  endurance 
went  to  pieces  under  the  strain.  Raucously  and  blub- 
beringly  he  screeched  for  mercy.  The  Jap  continued 
happily  to  exert  the  cross-pull  pressure. 

"Will  you  speak  up?"  queried  Brice,  sickened  at 
the  sight,  but  steeling  himself  with  the  knowledge  of 
the  captive's  crimes  and  of  the  vast  amount  at  stake. 

Roke  rolled  his  eyes  horribly,  grinding  his  yellowed 
teeth  together  to  check  his  own  cries.  Then,  sobbingly, 
he  blurted: 


276         BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

"Yes !    Lemme  loose !" 

"Not  till  you  tell,"  refused  Gavin.  "Quick,  now!" 

"Second  panel  from  left-hand  window,"  moaned  the 
stricken  and  anguished  Roke.  "Push  beading  up  and 
then  to  right.  He's — he's  safe  away,  by  now,  anyway," 
he  blubbered,  in  self-justification  of  the  confession 
which  agony  had  wrung  from  him.  "All  you'll  get  is 
the— the " 

And,  the  pain  having  eaten  into  his  very  brain,  he 
yelled  incoherently. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Milo  Standish  sought  out  his 
sister,  in  the  upper  room  whither  she  had  fled,  in  fear, 
to  escape  from  the  racket  of  Roke's  outcries. 

"Listen!"  he  jabbered  boyishly,  in  utter  excitement 
"Brice  made  him  tell  how  Rodney  got  out!  How 
d'you  s'pose?  One  of  the  old  panels,  in  the  music 
room,  slides  back,  and  there's  a  flight  of  stone  steps 
down  to  a  cellar  that's  right  alongside  our  regular 
cellar,  with  only  a  six  inch  cement-and-lath  wall  be- 
tween. It  leads  out,  to  the  tunnel.  Right  at  that 
turn  where  the  old-time  shoring  is.  The  shoring  hides 
a  little  door.  And  we  never  dared  move  the  props 
because  we  thought  it  held  up  the  tunnel-roof.  It's  all 
part  of  the  old  Indian-shelter  stunts  that  this  house's 
builders  were  so  daft  about,  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Hade  must  have  blundered  on  it  or  studied  it  out,  one 
of  those  times  when  he  used  to  go  poking  around  in 
the  tunnel,  all  by  himself.  And " 

"Did  Mr.  Brice  find  him  ?"  interposed  Claire. 

"Not  he !"  said  Milo,  less  bouyantly.  "Rodney  had 
a  good  ten  minutes  start  of  us.  And  with  a  start  like 


THE  GHOST  TREE  277 

that,  they'll  never  lay  hands  on  him  again.  He's  got 
too  much  cleverness  and  he  knows  too  many  good  hid- 
ing places.  But  Brice  found  the  next  best  thing. 
You'd  never  guess!  Rodney's  secret  cache  for  the 
treasure  was  that  walled-up  cellar.  It's  half  full  of 
canvas  bags.  Right  under  our  feet,  mind  you;  and 
we  never  knew  a  thing  about  it.  I  supposed  he  was 
shipping  it  North  in  some  way.  Roke  says  that  Rod- 
ney kept  it  there  because,  when  he  got  it  all,  he  was 
going  to  foreclose  and  kick  us  out;  and  then  dispose 
of  it  at  his  leisure.  The  swine!" 

"Okf 

"The  crypt  seems  to  have  been  a  part  of  our  own 
cellar  till  it  was  walled  off.  It " 

"But  how  in  the  world  did  Roke ?" 

"He  was  with  the  crew.  Rodney  and  he  went  to- 
gether to  the  yacht  for  them.  The  Secret  Service 
men  didn't  get  him,  in  the  round-up.  He  crept  as 
close  to  the  house  as  he  dared.  And  he  heard  Rodney 
sounding  the  signal  alphabet  they  had  worked  up,  on 
the  violin.  He  got  into  the  tunnel  and  so  to  the  cellar ; 
and  then  sneaked  up,  and  took  Rodney's  place  at  fid- 
dling. He  seems  to  have  been  as  willing  to  sacrifice 
himself  for  his  master  as  any  dog  would  have  been. 
Or  else  he  counted  on  Brice's  not  having  any  evi- 
dence to  hold  him  on. 

"By  the  way,  do  you  remember  that  conch,  Davy, 
over  at  Roustabout  Key?  Brice  says  he's  a  Secret 
Service  man.  He  and  Brice  used  to  fish  together,  off 
the  keys,  when  they  were  boys.  Davy  volunteered  for 
the  war.  And  Brice  made  good  use  of  him,  over 


278         BLACK  CESAR'S  CLAN 

there;  and  got  him  into  the  Secret  Service  when  they 
came  back.  It's  all  so  queer — so !" 

"Is  Mr.  Brice  still  downstairs?"  interrupted  Claire; 
her  eyes  straying  involuntarily  toward  the  door  of 
the  room. 

"No.  He  had  to  go.  He  left  his  good-bys  for  you. 
His  work  here  is  done.  And  he  has  to  start  for  Wash- 
ington on  the  2,  A.M.  train  from  Miami.  By  the  way, 
the  best  part  of  it  all  is  that  he  says  a  fugitive  from 
justice  can't  bring  legal  proceedings  in  a  civil  court. 
So  Rodney  can  never  foreclose  on  us  or  take  up  those 
notes  of  mine.  Lord,  but  that  chap,  Brice,  is  a  won- 
der!" 

Vital  as  was  the  news  about  the  notes  and  the  mort- 
gage, Claire  scarce  heard  it.  In  her  ears,  and  through 
the  brain  and  heart  of  her,  rang  drearily  the  words : 

"He  had  to  go.  He  left  his  good-bys  for  you.  His 
work  here  is  done." 

His  work  was  done !  Yes.  But  was  that  to  be  all  ? 
Had  the  light  in  his  eyes  and  the  vibrant  tremor  in  his 
voice  as  he  talked  with  her — had  these  been  part  of 
his  "work,"  too?  Was  it  all  to  end,  like  this; — and 
before  it  had  begun? 

To  her  own  surprise  and  to  her  brother's  greater 
astonishment,  the  usually  self-contained  Claire  Stan- 
dish  burst  into  a  tempest  of  weeping. 

"Poor,  poor  little  girl!"  soothed  Milo.  "It's  all 
been  too  much  for  you !  No  one  could  have  stood  up 
under  such  a  strain.  I'll  tell  you  what  we're  going  to 
do:  We're  going  to  Miami,  for  a  week  or  two,  and 
have  a  jolly  time  and  make  you  try  to  forget  all  this 


THE  GHOST  TREE  279 

mystery  and  excitement.     We'll  go  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, if  you  say  so." 

The  Miami  season  was  at  its  climax.  The  half- 
moon  driveway  outside  the  front  entrance  to  the  Royal 
Palm  Hotel  was  crowded  thick  with  waiting  motor 
cars,  whose  occupants  were  at  the  hotel's  semi-weekly 
dance.  On  the  brightlit  front  veranda  men  in  white 
and  in  dinner-clothes  and  women  in  every  hue  of  even- 
ing dress  were  passing  to  and  fro.  Elderly  folk,  sit- 
ting in  deep  porch  chairs,  watched  through  the  long 
windows  the  gayly-moving  dancers  in  the  ballroom. 
Out  through  wide-open  doors  and  windows  pulsed  the 
rhythmic  music. 

Above  hung  the  great  white  stars  in  the  blue-black 
Southern  skies.  The  bay  stretched  glimmering  and 
phosphorescent  away  from  the  palm-girt  hotel  gardens. 
The  trade-winds  set  the  myriad  dry  palm- fronds  to 
rustling  like  the  downpour  of  summer  rain. 

Up  the  steps  from  the  gardens  drifted  promenaders 
and  dancers;  in  groups  or  in  twos  and  threes.  Then, 
up  the  stairway  moved  a  slender,  white-clad  figure, 
alone. 

Claire  Standish  had  sought  to  do  as  her  brother  had 
wished;  and  to  forget,  in  the  carefree  life  of  the  White 
City,  the  happenings  she  had  been  through.  Dutifully 
she  had  come  to  Miami  with  him.  Dutifully,  for  the 
past  three  days,  she  had  joined  him  in  such  gayeties  as 
he  had  suggested.  Dutifully,  to-night,  she  had  come 
with  him  to  this  dance.  And  all  the  time  her  heart 
had  been  as  heavy  as  lead. 


280          BLACK  CAESAR'S  CLAN 

Now,  getting  rid  of  her  partner  on  some  pretext, 
she  had  gone  out  into  the  softly  illumined  gardens  to- 
be  alone  with  the  yearning  and  heartache  she  could  not 
shake  off.  Then,  fearing  lest  Milo,  or  some  other  of 
the  men  she  knew,  might  come  in  search  of  her  and 
wonder  at  her  desire  to  mope  alone  under  the  stars, 
she  had  turned  back  to  the  hotel. 

As  she  mounted  the  last  stair  to  the  veranda,  a  man 
in  dinner  clothes  stepped  forward  from  one  of  the 
porch's  great  white  pillars;  and  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"There's  a  corner  table  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  in 
Paris,"  he  greeted  her,  striving  to  control  his  voice 
and  to  speak  lightly,  "that  every  one  on  earth  must 
pass  by,  sooner  or  later.  The  front  veranda  of  the 
Royal  Palm  is  like  that.  Soon  or  late,  everybody 
crosses  it.  When  I  got  back  this  afternoon,  I  heard 
you  had  left  home  and  that  you  were  somewhere  in 
Miami.  I  couldn't  find  you.  So  I  came  here — and 
waited." 

Claire  had  halted,  at  first  sound  of  Gavin  Brice's 
pleasantly  slow  voice ;  and  she  stood  facing  him,  wide- 
eyed  and  pale;  her  breath  failing. 

"I  had  to  go  to  Washington  to  make  my  report," 
said  he,  speaking  low  and  fast.  "I  came  back  to  you 
by  the  first  train  I  could  catch.  Didn't  you  know  I 
would?" 

"Yes,"  she  breathed,  her  gaze  still  lost  in  his.  "Yes. 
I— I  knew." 

And  now  she  realized  she  had  known ;  even  while  she 
had  told  herself  she  would  never  see  him  again. 


THE  GHOST  TREE  281 

"Come!"  he  said,  gently;  holding  out  his  hand  to 
her. 

Unashamed,  under  the  battery  of  a  hundred  curious 
eyes,  she  clasped  the  proffered  hand.  And,  together, 
they  turned  back  toward  the  sheltering  dimness  of  the 
gardens. 


THE  END 


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